


Unpaid Overtime

by cachinnation



Category: X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern: Still Have Powers, Charles Is a Big Dorkface, Gen, Kink Meme, M/M, Roadtrip, trigger warning: Cincinnati
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-10
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-03-29 22:08:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 35,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3912376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cachinnation/pseuds/cachinnation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik is a transporter for hire. He'll deliver any package anywhere with no questions asked, for a price. Until he's paid a small fortune to move a package in secret across the country. Until he can’t help but stop, open his trunk, and look at the package, against express orders not to. There's a telepath in his trunk, half-conscious, hooked up to an IV, and shaking from the cold.  Now what?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ignition

**Author's Note:**

> Super extra thanks to [endingthemes](http://archiveofourown.org/users/endingthemes), who was there every step of the way but still won't let me list her as a coauthor.
> 
> This fic is based on [this prompt](http://xmen-firstkink.livejournal.com/9701.html?thread=21375973#t21375973) from the kinkmeme way back when.

It all started out all right.

Well, if “all right” can mean “pretty much how these things always start.”

It was still early morning when Erik Lehnsherr grabbed a cup of hot coffee from the cheap-but-resilient little pot in his kitchen (brewed for one, which was all he ever needed) and sighed at the shirt he had left in his sink. He had meant to do laundry properly the night before, but when gathering up the clothing scattered around his apartment, he had realized he had never soaked the blood (not his) out of the shirt he wore on his last run. It was probably too late, but he left it in a tub of cold water in the sink anyway and had forgotten about it. 

He ended up just leaving it there and heading out the door to his car in the parking lot downstairs. Work was calling.

At 8:05, he pulled into the lot of a rather seedy car rental and did a routine sweep of the cameras. They were either off or passable plastic models meant to look imposing, which saved him the trouble of having to fry them himself.

A squat little man was waiting in the back of the lot next to a familiar small moving truck, keeping a jumpy eye out and giving a little hop forward when Erik pulled up. “Here for the exchange?”

Erik nodded, stepping out and grabbing his small duffle bag from the passenger seat and tossing the keys to the man. “This one’s cleaned out. That’s the next one?”

The small man nodded, catching the keys and then gesturing with sweaty, gleaming palms. “That’s the one. Same as all the the ones last month and before that too, heading to the same place in Colorado, wherever that is. They sounded like they figured you’d know.”

Erik shrugged. “I think that shouldn’t be a problem. The others have been pretty uneventful and easy.”

Another nod. “You’ve got a good deal going with them and for solid money, too. How’d you get a hookup like that?” 

Erik’s voice remained indifferent. “I didn’t ask; they came to me. What’s in it?”

The man looked mildly disconcerted. “As if they’d tell me. They just said it’s the same. And there’s a...a briefcase on the seat for you, if you want to check it. They’ll hand over the rest when you get there, of course, but it should be more than enough to cover your needs for the trip and then some.”

Erik hefted his duffle bag and frowned. 

“Something wrong?” asked the man nervously.

Erik gave it a quick sweep; no bugs or tracking devices. “For what they offered, I expected this one to be bigger or something. It looks exactly the same.”

The man shrugged. “Contents could be different, I guess. They just say to hurry and not waste time. Whatever’s in there is perishable. Oh, that and ‘don’t look inside’ and all the other usual terms of service.” He handed Erik the keys, damp from his hands. “Good luck, I guess. See you when the next job comes in in a month or so.”

Erik just gave a noncommittal grunt and took them, sliding into the driver’s seat. The man scuttled off to dispose of the previous vehicle, giving Erik time to examine the metal briefcase that had been left for him. His expression tightened. Instead of being simply locked as usual, someone had soldered this one shut. Not that this was a problem for him -- the metal parted easily under his fingers and revealed the agreed-upon amount of cash inside -- but how could they _know_ that this wouldn’t be a problem? For a moment, he considered getting out and demanding an exchange or at least some answers, but he just sighed and put it aside. Instructions had been to hurry, and this was probably just some mafia peon’s idea of a bad joke. At least it didn’t involve any hidden severed body parts.

He started the engine, made sure nothing seemed like it might break down in the middle of the highway, and pulled out of the lot.

Erik decided to stop for breakfast at a nearby diner and review his maps rather than risk sitting in traffic on his way to New York City. He was fairly familiar with the route this time, but it felt like it centered him a little when he spread out the maps on the table before him like an old-time general readying for war. Also, he definitely needed another cup of coffee. Ever since he had gotten into the truck, there had been a strange sense of pressure in his head, and he was fairly sure it was a sign of insufficient caffeine.

And, indeed, as he traced the routes in his mind, sipping hot, black coffee and pretending not to notice how overcooked his eggs were, he felt the tension near his temples ease. Folding up the maps and scraping the last bits from his plate, he sat back and looked out the diner window at the nondescript little truck, frowning slightly. There was something metal inside, probably large and boxy by the feel of it, but hollow. Or, at the very least, whatever was inside it wasn’t metal. The box appeared to be secured to the floor of the truckbed with chains to prevent it sliding around, too, but the man at the car lot _had_ said the contents were perishable, so fragile made sense too.

Everything about the cargo felt the same as the last several assignments he had taken across the country. Last time, he had even glimpsed the metal crate as the paid muscle unloaded it, large and opaque with a few dark slits near the top. His first thoughts had been that they were trafficking in chimpanzees or some other sort of exotic animal, but there had not been a sound on any of the trips, and he wasn’t sure if even the hardiest wild animal would do very well in the back of a truck with no food, water, or sunlight for several days.

But why wonder about it? After all, he was very aware of the importance of his personal “no questions” policy. Curiosity, no matter how casual or simply-knowledge-for-knowledge’s-sake, was dangerously close to questioning, which was (in some cases) an easy way to end up ruined, dead, or both.

Erik shook his head as if to clear it, gathered up his things, dropped cash on the table, and headed back to the truck. The remnant of the discomfort still buzzed in the back of his head, but it was dull enough to ignore.

The sensation of pressure returned as he reached the main road, though. He growled to himself a bit, blaming the overbrightness of the morning sun, checked his shades, and popped a couple of painkillers to make sure he could stave off a full-blown headache. He also kept the radio on smooth jazz instead of start-your-morning-right rock ‘n’ roll as an extra precaution.

The painkillers seemed to work. The pressure shifted around inside his skull a bit, sometimes in the back, sometimes gathering right at the top, sometimes lurking behind his eyes, but it did not escalate into a headache. After a few hours, around when he passed Harrisburg, it faded almost completely. He made a silent, snide remark about the “fast-acting” label on the bottle and felt rather pleased with himself.

About 45 minutes out of Harrisburg, he stopped for a quick lunch, sitting in the parking lot of some little sandwich shop, giving his eyes a rest and occasionally opening his door to brush bread crumbs out onto the asphalt. He watched the back of the van in the side rearview mirror as if he expected the dull, flat paint on the side to shift into something interesting.

It didn’t, of course, but it kept him riveted through his whole sandwich.

The thought persisted as he pulled back onto the highway. Was the crate shifting as he followed the curve of the on-ramp? A quick sense-over with his powers told him it hadn’t, but perhaps he ought to stop and make sure.

He turned on some proper classic rock and tried to remember all the lyrics to “Kashmir,” but there were too many instrumental intervals to really be sufficiently distracting. How climate-controlled was the back of the truck, anyway? There seemed to be some insulation to it, but the weather outside was still a little bit chilly, especially with the highway winds whipping past.

He adjusted the air conditioning a bit.

Erik stopped at another rest station near the Ohio state line to stretch his legs a little and grab another cup of coffee. Walking back through the parking lot, he stopped and just examined the van from afar. It wasn’t really that spectacular or interesting. The whole point was that it would be unlikely to draw extra attention, and he had driven dozens -- perhaps hundreds -- like it. As far as he had known, there had never been anything interesting in the back of any of them.

To be fair, he had sometimes suspected that there were very interesting things in a few of them (at times, hints had pointed to everything from the latest versions of very illegal drugs to human organs on ice), but in those situations especially, he didn’t want to know what they were. In fact, he decided, he didn’t really want to know what was in this one, either.

He crossed the parking lot, dodging truckers and families with bouncing children in tow, as well as a raucous group of students on a road trip. He took a deep breath as he slid into the driver’s seat and let it out as he stuck the keys into the ignition. He paused a moment before turning them, his eyes resting once again on the mirror.

Erik had a vague memory of being very young and dying to know what his Hanukkah presents were, and it irked him greatly that he should feel the same way about this. As if one peek inside would help anything. Besides, items that needed covert transport did not generally fall into the “enjoyable” category, so it really made no sense.

He scowled at the road from behind his sunglasses and barrelled on down the highway.

It was starting to turn to twilight when he rolled into Cincinnati and found a motel he hadn’t stayed at before, making sure no one could possibly recognize him. Focusing on getting his room, he fried the parking lot cameras as he pulled in and marched to the front desk with enough cash in his pocket to ensure a room. He deliberately did not even give a single glance back toward the truck. Being in the dingy little lobby was like an odd breath of fresh air, and he didn’t even snap at the curly-haired clerk when he took five minutes to coax the antiquated system into giving up the list of vacancies.

After a few more minutes, Erik had the key to a second-floor single and was on his way back to the parking lot. He would have preferred to go straight to his room, but he wasn’t about to leave his briefcase of cash under the seat of a small moving van, and he needed his duffle bag. At least everything was in the front, though; he wouldn’t need to go near the back. But as he drew closer, and even as he pulled his luggage from the front, his attention strayed again.

Barely aware of what his feet were doing, he walked slowly to the back doors, his vision going hazy around the edges until they were all he could see. The latch came undone at barely more than a thought from him.

There was the crate, still the same color and shape and size as all the others he had felt, perfectly matching the one he had glimpsed. He told himself this was satisfactory, that there was no need to investigate further, but he found himself stepping up into the back of the truck.

The chains fell away with a wave of his hand, and he felt the tumblers in the locks shifting and aligning. He had a vague feeling that he ought to experience a pounding pulse or hyperventilation or even just a delicious sense of rebellion as his fingertips touched the lid, but he didn’t so much as hesitate.

He opened it in one smooth motion.

Inside was a naked young man, curled up and shivering in the night air, his eyes only half open and unfocused. Erik froze. The man in the box turned his head with great effort, squinting as he peered upward.

Then his face broke into a smile, and a voice in Erik’s head said, _Oh! Raven was right; he_ is _delightfully hot!_


	2. Onramp

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be updating weekly for now, and hopefully bumping it up to twice a week once my work schedule settles down (probably in June.)

There was another moment of silence, broken shortly thereafter by a small thud as the naked man’s head lolled back down to the floor of the crate. This at least was enough to get Erik springing into action. He knelt by the crate, undoing the latches with a flick of his hand so that the sides fell away and he could better assess the situation. Affixed to one side of the crate was a large, sealed clear bag, connected by a thin tube to a needle taped into the back of the man’s hand, feeding a slow drip of dark, cloudy liquid into his vein.

Erik swore inwardly. He couldn’t just leave a semi-conscious drugged-up stranger in the back of his van in a motel parking lot, no matter how much easier that would be. Instead, he carefully slipped the needle out, pulled a folded trenchcoat from his duffle bag, spread it on the floor of the van, and carefully moved his cargo onto it. He then hefted his duffle bag onto his shoulder, kept the briefcase of cash floating nearby, and gathered the man up in his coat. 

He had hoped to stride capably up to his motel room to regroup and decide what to do, but the journey was rather more of the slapstick sitcom variety. The duffel bag straps were constantly slipping off his shoulder, and the floating briefcase clanged on the stairwell railing at least twice. His arms ached with the dead weight in them by the time he reached the top of the stairs, and eventually he gave up entirely on keys and just opened the door with an awkward toss of his head. Once in, he dumped the man onto the bed and sat on the floor, breathing hard. His…“passenger” seemed to have passed out completely.

Erik sat there for what must have been only a few minutes, though it felt like an hour, his mind a complete, roaring blank. This was not supposed to happen at all, and it wouldn’t have if he hadn’t been stupid enough to actually make an amateur move like opening the back of the van.

He glanced at the bed again, and the comatose man was still there. Even worse, Erik realized with a jolt that he _recognized_ him. The drugged man in his dreary Ohio motel room was Charles Xavier, heir to the Xavier fortune and notorious socialite. No, _former_ socialite. Young Mr. Xavier had recently had a change of heart, renounced his drunken and promiscuous ways, and suddenly become a mutants’ rights activist. Apparently he had done some actual work at Oxford and earned a couple of impressive-sounding degrees in genetics, but no one paid that much mind because 1) he hadn’t made a big public deal of it, and 2) the tabloids didn’t find it worth reporting. No one really took his activism seriously, but people were still paying attention in hopes that he’d give up and do something excitingly scandalous instead.

 _At least he’s probably used to being passed out in strangers’ motel rooms,_ thought the “horrible person” corner of Erik’s mind. He immediately felt terrible, confused, and a bit sick to his stomach while still trying not to let out an unhinged laugh, so he stood up and walked out of the room, shutting the door behind him. He leaned against the wall in the hallway for a bit, forcing himself to breathe and wondering how much he could drink _right now_ without hugely compromising the drive the next day.

A sensation like a few choice internal organs turning into ice swept through him. _The drive tomorrow!_ He had always appreciated the steady certainty that came with a long road trip, the planned route, the neatly numbered exits, the knowledge of exactly what he would be doing when he got up the next day… But he couldn’t even be sure of that now, or of anything. Well, he could be sure of one thing: he would not continue to head west with Charles Xavier tomorrow.

And that was the thing: the person he had was _Charles Xavier_ , which was surely a recipe for trouble. People _liked_ the Xavier kid, or at least found him fairly interesting, and prosecutors went after defendants extra hard when public sentiment was on their side and there seemed a high potential for a tough-on-crime lengthy sentence. 

Charles had seen his face, too, though only briefly and through a drugged haze, so maybe identifying him wouldn’t be too easy… Maybe Erik could stuff him back into the van, drive back, and quietly dump him somewhere he’d be found and returned to where he belonged. Perhaps the authorities wouldn’t pursue the kidnapping investigation quite so rigorously and tirelessly if they actually got the missing person back promptly. Maybe...maybe no one had even noticed he was gone yet. After all, everyone assumed he’d go back to his wild partying sooner or later, so they’d be checking the clubs and house parties first, right?

But the faceless client that had hired Erik would know. Even if the authorities didn’t track him down, he had been paid too much to believe his employer would not be far more tenacious and bloodthirsty. And if he had failed so spectacularly at a job, that would also get out, and there went the whole business. Too bad no one offered insurance for that kind of thing.

He turned his options over in his head. He could make it back to New York tomorrow, especially if he left early and didn’t stop much, could drop Charles off in some unexpected location and race home to pack as much as possible before disappearing as best he could on such short notice. It would probably be a few hours before word really got out about Charles, maybe a day if he was lucky and the Xavier estate hushed things up a bit, but even so…

In some ways, Erik wasn’t all that worried. He was fairly aware of his own resourcefulness and had managed in much worse situations before this. He felt reasonably sure he could come out of this with minimal permanent damage in the end, but he couldn’t say he was thrilled to suddenly find his life and plans and neat arrangements entirely uprooted. 

In fact, he was positively annoyed at Charles Xavier. Charles was supposed to stay drunk and common sense-less from the comfortable distance of tabloid photos at newsstands and obnoxious screens flashing inane gossip at defenseless passers-by. How dare he show up in Erik’s neatly planned, routine transport run! How dare he pass out to avoid explaining himself! How dare he show up _naked_ just to complicate things, presumably out of spite! How dare he...think Erik was hot…

The righteous anger evaporated, though it had the decency to leave a properly disgruntled residue in Erik’s chest, which was rapidly replaced by a shaft of cold dread. 

Yes, Charles had been conscious enough to move on his own and respond briefly, but there was no telling what had been in the IV bag or what exactly was going on, and the back of the van hardly had air conditioning. Erik had seen drugs go wrong, and it was never pretty -- and, come to think of it, he hadn’t even bothered to check Charles’ pulse. What was going to happen if he called an ambulance and the paramedics arrived to find him with a Xavier corpse? As annoying as moneyed celebrities were, he hardly was the type to wish death upon them, or even any sort of permanent damage. 

What if after what if crowded into his head and then quickly devolved into a stream of panicked mental profanity before he forced himself to snap out of it.

Erik groaned, took a deep breath, rubbed a hand over his face, and reached for the door handle. He’d have to face this problem some time, and it might as well be sooner than later. The handle wouldn’t turn. In his moment of dismay outside, he had inadvertently fused the mechanisms inside into an unwieldy lump, and he spent the next ten minutes cursing under his breath as he stared at the door and concentrated on picking apart the pieces inside.

When he finally managed to get into his room, he paused. Something was different. Oh. Someone had turned on the bedside lamp. And in fact, said someone was sitting on the bed, propped up against the headboard wearing nothing but a slightly (but only slightly) frayed-around-the-edges trenchcoat that was going to need so much drycleaning. Said someone smiled at him standing there staring in the doorway.

“Hello, Erik,” said Charles Xavier.

The media-watching public was generally aware of Charles Xavier’s telepathy. The tabloids had mentioned it when the majority of Vegas casinos had banned him from playing any strategy or bluff-calling games, as well as blackjack, reasoning that if someone was counting cards at the table, he could skim off that too. He was more than welcome to play slots or chance games like craps, and his boisterous, beautiful, moneyed entourage was allowed to play anything they liked.

In general, his abilities seemed to be mostly limited to party tricks, and his wealth shielded him from too much scrutiny or discrimination. Besides, the parties themselves made for much more interesting reporting. But now that hardly seemed to be the full extent of Charles’ abilities.

“No, it certainly is not,” replied Charles pleasantly.

Erik started. In fact, Charles seemed to be reading full thoughts and emotions rather than being limited to numbers, colors, and shapes.

Charles nodded at him, still beaming, though he also looked as if he didn’t have the strength to sit up on his own. “You’re quite quick at figuring things out.”

Erik took a step back, and Charles’ face fell.

“I’m sorry, I’ll try to only respond to things you’ve properly vocalized.”

Another reason Erik never transported people: they _talked_ to him. Or tried, at least.

Charles looked a bit put out at this, and Erik put up his hands, figuring he’d better clarify the situation before things really got out of hand. “Look, right now you’re in Cincinnati, Ohio, but we’ll leave first thing in the morning, and I can have you back in New York by tomorrow night. That should mean we don’t have a problem, right?”

Charles looked at him with an infuriating kindness in his eyes and shook his head. “Oh no, I _wanted_ to be in that van.”

Erik stared at him again. Rich people did _weird_ things for kicks.

Charles snorted a laugh in spite of his earlier promise. “No, no, you see, I’m _investigating_.”

That didn’t sound any more sensible. “I’m sorry the designs on the van are not more LSD-inspired, but I’m sure you could afford your own Mystery Machine if you really wanted it,” snapped Erik, realizing a split second later that it was probably not advisable to be sarcastic at someone who could be a mere 911 call away from having him arrested for every felony in the book and a sprinkling of misdemeanors for good measure.

Charles just turned up his nose, though. “You know, just because I don’t have an exciting life of crime to make me seem more legitimate doesn’t mean I can’t be looking into something big.”

A flash of anger shot through Erik. “Anything I might have done that broke the law was about _survival_ , not about appearing ‘legitimate’ or ‘exciting,’” he ground out through clenched teeth, refusing to raise his voice. “What do you know about me anyway?”

Charles bit his lip. “Not everything,” he admitted after a moment. “I may have poked around in your head a bit, but there is plenty I left untouched.”

Well _that_ explained the strange feelings in Erik’s skull. For a moment, he was grateful that Charles had left some memories and thoughts alone, but in the next moment he was entirely outraged that he should feel gratitude over any part of such invasive actions.

Charles sighed. “Yes, most people react that way. Look, won’t you at least sit down? It’s hard to talk when you’re standing over there looking at me like I’m a fly you found in your lobster bisque.”

Ignoring Charles’ gesture toward the foot of the bed, Erik pulled over the wooden chair from the desk and sat on that, still out of arm’s reach. He didn’t want to discuss what Charles might have seen in his head, so he turned the topic to him. “Well, I’m taking you back tomorrow. You can hire a willing party to help you play detective -- I want no part in this.”

Charles frowned, the expression of someone unused to being told no. “It has to be you. You’re the one who knows the route.”

Erik raised an eyebrow. “So you’re investigating me, and you expect me to just go along with it?”

Charles shrugged as if this were an eminently sensible scenario. “Well, you seemed much more worried about others investigating you. Surely I’m the least threatening option on the table.” He gave Erik a little grin. “And I have been told I look stunning when over a table.”

Erik refused to be sidetracked by this. He took a moment to compose himself. “You’re a telepath with abilities that clearly far surpass anything you’ve let on to the media. I’m not sure that’s less threatening.” He paused again, speaking carefully when he broke the silence. “You could just make me take you there if you wanted, couldn’t you.”

Charles pulled a face like a small child eating broccoli. “I could. But I won’t.”

Erik watched his expression warily. “Why not?”

Charles shook his head. “I don’t do that. I have a healthy appreciation for free will, and while I have occasionally frozen people in place or taken charge in an emergency, I’m not looking to coerce anyone into anything they don’t want at all. Besides, I know you’ll help me.”

Erik frowned. “And what makes you so sure of that?”

Charles beamed. “Because you’re a good person. I can sense it.”

Erik laughed at this, the kind of laugh that usually made people back up a few feet and tighten their grip on whatever weapons they were holding. “I thought you were supposed to be psychic.”

Charles gave him a disappointed professor look. “Telepathy and visions of the future are very different skills, and it is not politically correct to conflate one with the other. And, yes, I have felt good in you. If there weren’t any, you wouldn’t have been upset to find me like you did.”

Erik rose from his chair a little. “Now look here, you threw a wrench in my plans; don’t misinterpret that as some sort of personal twinge of conscience.”

Charles rolled his eyes. “It’s only a wrench in your plans because you care that I’m a person. If you didn’t, you would have left me where I was and continued on your way. I checked to see what your most likely reaction would be before trying to persuade you to look into the back, you know.”

Erik gave an incredulous little chuckle, sitting down again. “That was you trying to be gently persuasive?”

Charles shrugged. “You said no for several hours, to be fair. I would have respected that and let it be, but it was getting terribly cold in there.” He plucked at the trenchcoat and gave Erik a bright-eyed smile. “Thank you for the loan, by the way. I had not expected them to take _everything_ from me, I confess.”

Erik didn’t know what to say to that.

“By the way, you don’t happen to have a full set of spare clothing, do you? Also, whatever they used to knock me out still isn’t fully out of my system, so you’ll probably have to help me dress a little.”

Erik paused and gave him a careful look, waiting for the punchline.

Charles just smiled at him, pleasant and politely bland. Something touched Erik’s mind briefly and Charles’ brow knitted slightly. “Well of course I’m serious; does it look like I could dress myself at this moment? At any rate, assuming we’re stopping for the night, something simple will be acceptable.”

Not sure what else to do, Erik rummaged through his duffle bag and found a long-sleeved t-shirt and some gym shorts, which Charles studied with an appraising eye.

“Are they clean?”

Erik felt a flash of indignation. “Of course they’re clean! I just started this trip; when would I have had time to go work out?” 

“I didn’t think it an unreasonable question,” sniffed Charles. “All right, all right, that will do. The sooner you help me get dressed, the sooner you can have your coat back.”

 _I don’t know if I want it back now,_ thought Erik rebelliously, though that was a lie.

Charles just smiled and pretended he hadn’t heard. He rolled his shoulders a bit, shrugging off the coat and leaning forward a little to let Erik put the shirt over his head, messy hair emerging through the collar like a blooming brunet patch of weeds. He shook it out of his eyes and lifted his arms with some effort to get them into the sleeves, which Erik spread long for him. The cuffs reached past his knuckles. Erik tried pushing them up to his skinny wrists, but they just fell down again, and he gave up.

Charles spread out his hands and thought something about tailoring, which Erik also found irritating. _Of course they’d have to tailor all your clothes, given how short you are,_ he thought before he could stop himself (in his defense, he had never intended to say it out loud), but he was gratified to note that Charles looked just as needled as he felt for a moment.

“I’m going to need the shorts, too,” said Charles after a pause, negating Erik’s best efforts not to think about it.

Charles’ legs were solid, more so than Erik had expected from looking at his arms, but then again someone like Charles probably spent more time going up and down the stairs in his countryside mansion than he did lifting heavy things. 

And then, at some point, Erik had to lean forward and hook an arm under Charles’, hoisting him up just a bit so he could actually get the shorts under his hips, and there was no way to do it that did not end with Charles’ face smushed into his shoulder and hands scrabbling for slipping fabric and accidentally grazing skin. He pulled quite far away as soon as the shorts were properly on, trying to catch his breath and pretend he still had some dignity.

Charles looked rumpled but unfazed.


	3. Freeway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All opinions regarding Ohio expressed by Erik Lehnsherr as quoted here are solely his opinions and do not reflect the opinions of the author.

“Are you hungry?” Erik asked after a beat, not sure what else to say.

For the first time that evening, Charles looked genuinely surprised. “Oh! Oh no, I guess I’m not.” His brow wrinkled a bit. “How very odd. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

Erik nodded. “Pretty much a full day. And I can tell you, you haven’t eaten.”

Charles examined the needle mark on the back of his hand. “Were there nutrients in the drip? But no, they didn’t give me a catheter. Or did they?” He glanced up at Erik matter-of-factly. “Did you pull that out too?”

Erik kept a very straight face. “No, I did not. There wasn’t one.”

Charles nodded slowly. “How very curious. I’m quite sure it was at least partly to keep me unconscious, as I did feel myself starting to wake up much more once disconnected. And I think it interfered with my telepathy as reaching out even to a mind as close as yours took considerable effort when normally it would be a very simple matter.”

Erik betrayed as little surprise as possible, but he could feel it spring up inside of him and knew Charles would be able to tell anyway. “That was you trying to be gently persuasive while significantly impaired?”

Charles beamed at him again. _Exciting, isn’t it?_

Erik considered throwing out a sharp little retort but something else that Charles had said distracted him. “Wait, you said you thought whatever was in there interfered with your powers?”

Charles nodded again. “Yes, I’m sure it did. I’ve felt much better since you took the needle out, and my reach is returning to normal, I think.”

Erik blanched. “Do you have any idea what that means?”

For once Charles looked a bit cross. “Of course I do! I told you I was investigating, didn’t I? Whoever is doing this has been taking mutants for a little while now, and I’m determined to find out why.”

Erik frowned deeply. “Taking mutants? Are you sure?”

Charles’ expression was grave. “Quite sure. Mostly they’re poor or runaways, the type of people no one notices when they’re gone.” He looked Erik in the eyes suddenly, searching. “You know about that sort of thing, don’t you.” He took another breath and continued. “But they’ve all been mutants. And now they’re getting bolder, taking more, and the authorities haven’t made going after stolen mutated nobodies a huge priority, so the pattern’s stayed under the radar.”

Erik felt a chill creeping up his spine but simply squared his shoulders. “But you noticed?”

Charles lifted his chin a bit stubbornly. “And I’m investigating. That’s why I need you to keep going, though I’d like to ride shotgun if possible.”

Erik sighed. “I know your intentions are good, but I don’t know if…”

“I don’t think you understand,” broke in Charles evenly. “I need you to keep going because you’ve done this before.”

Erik said nothing.

Charles’ voice was soft, not sounding accusing, though he didn’t mince words. “Mine wasn’t the first crate you transported, was it?”

Still silence.

“Or the second? Or the third?”

Erik still did not speak, not trusting his voice, just thinking at Charles. _No._

Charles smiled, his eyes a little bit sad. _I want to find the others, and I think, if it really comes down to it, you do too. So if we’re going in the same direction, we might as well go together._

Erik thought about this for a very long time. Charles’ expression said he was trying very hard not to listen in. At last, Erik stood, his face tired and haggard. “We’d better get some sleep. We have a long drive ahead of us over the next few days.”

Charles looked thrilled but not surprised. (Far too accustomed to getting his way all the time.) “Wonderful! Now, I should warn you -- well, will you object to a little platonic spooning?”

Erik went back to being stony-faced. “I’m going to sleep on the floor.”

He did not sleep well. Nothing he had done in the past had quite prepared him for this. He had always been good at projecting a cold aura that neatly drove away threats and hangers-on alike, but he was hardly a stony killer without a single twinge of conscience to his name. Not that he wasn’t above a kill or two if necessary, but the transporter job was the most comfortable. And this had not been part of the deal.

As angry and betrayed as Erik felt toward his employers for pulling this on him, he also knew his own deliberately uninquisitive working style was just as much to blame. And as much of an asset as that was on his underground resumé, it did mean he was turning a blind eye on certain practices. All the same, he had thought he had drawn the line at this. The packages he transported had always been too small to be entire humans (or mutants), and they had clearly been inanimate cargo, or the trips were too long to be hospitable for living things.

After all, growing up and establishing himself, he had met kids on the streets, watched them waste away or fall in with people who only saw them as expendable resources. He had made friends who had vanished and then reappeared later behind yellow police tape, zipped up in bags that were far too big for their frames but at least were opaque enough to block out the flashing red and blue lights. 

Of course, there were also those who never resurfaced except in rumors, shut away into too small rooms or sent out onto unfamiliar streets, picked up and used and discarded like a cheap pair of shoes. Erik had seen the kinds of people who loaded other people into vans and sworn never to be one of them, which eliminated both “cop” and “human trafficker” from his potential career options.

The transporter gig had worked out well, and his extra abilities had saved his life out on the streets on more than one occasion. His various employers liked his silence and his nerves of steel, especially the fact that guns never even seemed to faze him.

He felt a brush in his mind again, cautious and gentle, trying to draw close without being too aggressive. It was like having someone sidle up next to him on a couch but in his own head, and he wasn’t sure how to respond or if he even wanted to.

_If you’re not comfortable on the floor, I really don’t mind if you join me,_ said the feeling, colored distinctly like Charles. _I’m sorry, I don’t mean to pry, but you...you remember rather loudly sometimes._

Erik drew in a sharp breath and then, unable to think of what to say, simply growled, “Go to sleep.”

Charles withdrew a little, awkward and mildly forlorn, bundling into the cheap motel blankets a bit more. Erik listened to him rustle about for a while and then go quietly still a few minutes later. Another interval, and then Erik got up briefly to make sure he was still breathing, but he was and it seemed that any danger from the drugs had faded, even if the effects still lingered.

Shaking his head at his own concern, Erik went back to his spot on the floor and resigned himself to several more hours of tossing and turning.

He must have slept, though, because was already mid-morning when he awoke to Charles singing something in French in the shower. He was mildly disappointed to find that the fiasco of the night before had indeed actually happened.

Charles emerged a few minutes later, toweling off his hair and wearing the same clothes from the night before. “We’re going to have to stop somewhere and buy me a toothbrush, by the way. There are some things that shouldn’t be shared. How much money do you have with you anyway?”

Erik supposed that was how rich people said “good morning.”

“I heard that,” said Charles primly. “Unfortunately, I have no money with me -- they took that along with all of my clothing. However, I’m starving now, and I get light-headed when my blood sugar drops too low.”

Erik sat up and looked at the bedside clock. Almost eleven. “I’m pretty sure this place doesn’t do room service.”

Charles rolled his eyes. “I know. I looked for the menu already. At any rate, it seems we will have to go out and forage for sustenance like our prehistoric ancestors. Do you know, early humans probably seemed like mutants to the Neanderthals. But recent discoveries and analysis of remains from that era seem to indicate there was some interbreeding, so I suppose the situation wasn’t entirely antagonistic.”

Erik ignored him and pushed past to get to the shower. For him, coffee currently ranked significantly higher on his priority list than prehistoric theories and comparisons of evolutionary stages. 

When he came out of the shower, Charles was sitting on the bed poking at his phone. Given that Erik discarded phones with great regularity, Erik wasn’t worried about him finding any sensitive or personal information, but it still irritated him. He made sure that when the phone sailed across the room from Charles’ hands to his that it did so with a sharp little jerk.

Charles looked up protestingly. “Hey!”

Erik scowled. “Use your own phone. Oh, that’s right, you don’t have one.”

Charles’ answering scowl was more petulant than intimidating. “I was looking up things to do and see in Cincinnati!”

Erik shoved the phone in his pocket. “I can answer that for you already: nothing. There is nothing to do or see in Cincinnati. It is in _Ohio_ , if that gives you any idea.”

Charles crossed his arms. “I don’t believe you. Let me check the phone.”

“No.”

“There can’t be this many people in one place with nothing to do. Human culture springs up naturally and inexorably. I want to know what they have created communally.”

Erik pulled the phone out and pretended to type into it. “‘Dear internet, what is there to do in Cincinnati?’ Oh look, it says, ‘0 results found.’”

Charles threw a pillow at him with abysmal aim. “That’s just mean.”

Erik put the phone away again. “Look, this isn’t a sightseeing holiday or whatever you might be imagining. If you actually want me to get you all the way to the drop-off point, we need to get on the road and do some driving. Time is limited, and even if it weren’t, I wouldn’t be wasting mine here.”

“We at least have to try the chili,” declared Charles in a tone that said he clearly felt the argument was now over.

Erik sighed inwardly. The next few days were going to be very, very long.

So they went and got the chili (Erik demanded to know who thought combining chili and pasta was a good idea, and Charles declared it brilliant) and stopped by a drugstore for a toothbrush for Charles and then finally crammed into the van to get on the road by 1:45. Erik was still figuring out which smaller streets would take him to the highway when Charles pulled out the pile of maps from the glove compartment.

“Erik, are these yours?”

Erik cursed an inconveniently placed one-way street and turned to look. “Yes, I use those. Put them back.”

Charles looked a bit dubious. “Doesn’t your phone have GPS? Or did you break it?”

Erik looked unamused. “If I already know where everything is on the map, I can refer to it just as easily. Besides, I think you need a phone for more than a month or two at a time to make saving coordinates and routes in it worth it. It’s also risky to do that if you think the phone might fall into the wrong hands.”

Charles sat back in his seat. “Oh.”

Erik pulled onto the highway, and they drove in the blessed silence for a while.

It was Erik who finally spoke up, though. “So why are you doing this? If you think something’s happening, why not call the police or hire someone to look into it?”

Charles looked out the window. “Well, usually if you’re going to call something in, you need more than a suspicion, and no one takes me seriously anyway.” Erik opened his mouth to say something, but Charles cut him off. “No, I know they don’t. You know, when I started a YouTube channel to talk about my activism and what my plans were, I got several thousand followers in a few days. But that dropped substantially after I actually started posting material about mutant rights. I guess they were just hoping for more party antics and drunken stories. I thought I could at least translate some of my fame into raising awareness, but that’s harder than I realized.”

Erik said nothing, but in all fairness he hadn’t even known Charles had made a YouTube channel.

Charles sighed softly. “But I figured cameras are going to pop up wherever I go, so if I really get out and get involved in something newsworthy, then maybe we can actually get some attention directed at something meaningful.”

Erik tilted his head. “And you decided to accomplish that by going and getting yourself kidnapped?”

“...yes,” said Charles, deflating a bit more.

Erik glanced at him carefully. “This wasn’t the original plan, was it?”

“...what?” This kid was a terrible liar.

“Even you would have thought things through at least a little more,” explained Erik evenly. “This is just dangerous and rash and you got very lucky because if you had gotten a different transporter…”

Charles rustled the maps a bit more, not really looking at them.

Erik pretended to only be watching the road. “It’s personal, isn’t it.”

Charles traced the line of the highway with his fingertip. “My sister went missing. It’s my fault.”

“You have a sister?” The tabloids only ever mentioned one Xavier, and Erik had never given it much thought. 

“Well, she’s adopted,” Charles admitted, “and my parents never really acknowledged her publicly, but we’ve always been very close. For a long time, she was my only companion and confidante. She isn’t as fond of parties, but sometimes she’d tag along and keep an eye on me. She’s also much better at not being recognized by the paparazzi or general public, which is always useful. Because of that, I talked her into helping me look into things when I sensed mutants in the area disappearing. She even tailed you once or twice, but then she stopped contacting me.” He paused, his jaw tightening. “For a while, I thought maybe you had done something to her.”

Erik thought this over. “She wouldn’t happen to be the Raven who told you I was hot, would she?”

Charles gave him a bug-eyed look. “How did you know about that??”

For once, Erik laughed and it wasn’t absolutely terrifying. “You told me. In fact, it was the first thing you said to me. I wondered if ‘Raven’ was going to come up soon.”

“I...I’m afraid I only vaguely recall that,” mumbled Charles, somewhat flustered.

“So which one was she?”

“Pardon?”

“Which tail was she?” repeated Erik. “I’ve had a few, especially during my last run. The blond woman? The ginger? Or, I suppose you’re going to tell me she was the middle-aged hispanic man. A tip to her team: if they’re going to switch off driving to make it harder to figure out, they should probably change cars, too.”

“That was her,” said Charles quietly.

“Yeah, but which one?”

“All of them.”

Erik slowly turned to look at Charles. “Another mutant, then?”

Charles carefully folded up the maps. “Shapeshifting. She’s in plenty of pictures with me, just generally not with the same face. She never cared for media attention.”

“So she went after me, then went missing, and you figured the best way to go after her would be to follow her steps in a crate,” concluded Erik.

“The things we do for family, I guess,” chuckled Charles dryly.

Erik did not reply to that. “How far do you think she got?”

Charles shook his head. “Not sure. The last I heard from her, she made it all the way to Colorado, and she thought she found something important, then...nothing.”

Erik’s hands tightened slightly on the wheel. “That’s where the drop-off point is. She must have gotten pretty far. Did she say what she thought she found?”

“She said she couldn’t be sure.” Charles gave a forced little laugh. “I guess that’s when I should have known she’d go missing. Isn’t that always what the brave friend says over the phone to the undecided protagonist before encountering trouble and forcing the protagonist to take action? I watched a lot of movies with her when I was growing up…. I just never thought I was _that_ sort of protagonist.”

“Maybe you’re not the protagonist,” cut in Erik. “Don’t be so self-centered.”

“We’re all protagonists of something,” said Charles airily, brushing away the comment with a wave of his hand.

“How very egalitarian of you,” replied Erik without much feeling.

“I’m sure you’re the protagonist of some very interesting stories,” insisted Charles; Erik was beginning to suspect he was talking just for the sake of talking at this point, and they were barely into Indiana. “After all, your powers are fascinating. I’m a bit surprised I didn’t pick up on you sooner during my occasional scans of New England. When I explored your memories, I saw you manipulating metal, but is that all kinds of metal? How much can you manipulate? Could you drive this van entirely with your powers if you wanted to? Why don’t you? Have you ever talked to any scientists or let them quantify the exact nature of your mutation?”

Erik changed lanes ahead of a zippy little sports car that honked at him before he turned a steely warning look on Charles. “You’re allowed to be nervous, but if being nervous makes you talk this much, I _will_ pull over and put you back in the crate.”

Charles looked at him indignantly. “That’s hardly humane treatment!”

Erik only shrugged. “I would let you keep the clothes so you wouldn’t freeze.”

Charles was not appeased, but he did settle back in silence and looked out the window some more. _You’re supposed to feel sorry for me because my sister is missing and I’m all alone,_ he put into Erik’s head.

Erik did his best to send back a mental but emphatically derisive snort. Judging by Charles’ continued silence, it did get through.


	4. Rest Stop

In fact, Charles was nice and quiet for a good while until the afternoon began to draw to a close. “Are we stopping for supper soon?”

Erik glanced at the clock. “I guess probably soon. Are you hungry already?”

Charles crossed his arms. “What do you mean, ‘already’?” he demanded. “I didn’t even say anything about afternoon tea because of your foul mood and you expect me to not be hungry?”

Erik gave him a sidelong look. “You don’t do afternoon tea -- stop trying to play on British stereotypes.”

Charles’ arms uncrossed. “Okay, fine, it’s usually more of an afternoon snack, but even after all these years of living in the US and however many more there are to come, I will always be partial to tea.”

Erik looked mostly indifferent. “We’ll, we’re stopping at a diner for dinner. If you’re so hungry, I can’t imagine you’ll object.”

Charles looked simultaneously unimpressed and yet rather intrigued by said diner. He inspected the cracked vinyl of the booth seats and tried to decipher the faded scrawls in permanent marker on the tabletop. He tried to order his burger “medium rare” and asked how many ounces it was, which earned an odd look from the waitress.

Erik let him explore a little on the condition he not narrate his findings in real time, but a bit of mental chatter filtered through now and then about things like how quaintly shaped the salt and pepper shakers were.

But all at once, it stopped entirely and Charles froze. Erik looked at him questioningly, but Charles’ gaze went right past him, angled slightly upwards. Erik turned to look.

Charles’ face was beaming at him from the grainy TV in the corner, the blue and white text banner beneath the image reading: “XAVIER HEIR MISSING”. The volume was down to inaudible levels, and no one seemed to be paying attention, but Charles sank down in his seat a bit anyway.

_I didn’t think of that. I was supposed to give a little talk on civil rights and due process for mutants at a local university yesterday, so I suppose they noticed my absence. I didn’t think it would make the news, though...._

_You’re rich, white, and attractive,_ retorted Erik. _Of course it made the news._

Charles brightened immediately. _You think I’m attractive?_

Erik sighed but still thanked the waitress when she brought their food. _You would only pick up on that part._ He studied the TV a bit more. _Who’s that being interviewed?_

Charles looked at the screen again, his expression tightening. _Oh. That...that’s my stepfather and stepbrother._ His mental tone was significantly less affectionate than when he spoke of Raven.

Erik squinted at him. _How many secret siblings do you have? Do you keep them in the attic of your mansion or something?_

Charles frowned at him. _No, Raven and Cain are the extent of it. But I don’t think Cain really counts. My mother may have married his father, but there has never been any brotherly love._

A new banner flashed below the large, beefy man speaking silently on the screen and sweating under the bright lights. “MARKO VOWS TO USE ‘ALL AVAILABLE RESOURCES’ TO FIND XAVIER” The younger copy behind him scowled at the reporters and let his father do the talking. Charles prodded his burger halfheartedly. 

Erik felt an odd flash of rage and protectiveness, looking at his downcast expression. He was not used to the feeling and pushed it down with some emotional violence. Charles seemed not to have noticed.

_‘All available resources’ -- that’s all they care about, you know. Of course he’d use my disappearance to say he needs access to the family money without going through the usual processes. Let them have it, I don’t care as long as I can find Raven._

_Will they actually get it?_ asked Erik, raising an eyebrow.

 _Probably not,_ admitted Charles. _Maybe a million or two, but most of it is pretty well locked up behind all kinds of legal barriers. It drives them crazy to know they can’t just help themselves._

Erik looked at the mostly uneaten burger on Charles’ plate. _Do you want to just get that to go?_

Charles looked at the TV again -- the reporter had moved on to talk about construction delays on local roads. _Yes, I think that might be best._

Erik gave him an almost-imperceptible nod. _Go ahead out to the van first, then. I’ll pay and be there in a minute._

_I don’t mind waiting that much._

Erik just gave an inward sigh. _No, I mean it’s better if you don’t give anyone a chance to study you. They just showed your face on TV, which means you’ll be extra recognizable for the next few minutes._

 _I can make them not recognize me,_ protested Charles with a grumbling sort of tone, but he went anyway.

Erik watched him reach the van and climb inside, then waved down the waitress for the check and a couple of styrofoam boxes.

“Where’s your friend?” she asked, looking around vaguely.

“Went out for a smoke,” he replied smoothly, counting out change. His shoulders tensed, but she just nodded and drifted away with a hazy “have a nice evening.”

Charles looked oddly pleased when Erik slid into the drivers’ seat, his expression not even faltering when the takeout boxes were dropped unceremoniously onto his lap. “She tried to ask you about me, didn’t she. You were worried.”

Erik shrugged, trying to look calm and not put off by Charles’ change in mood. “Just where you had gone. She didn’t seem to have recognized you.”

Charles just nodded matter-of-factly. “Because I didn’t let her.”

Erik paused and turned his head to look at Charles, who just patted his arm.

“Just because I can’t throw cement trucks around -- I am assuming that is what you do on weekends -- doesn’t mean I’m completely useless. And you were worried -- ‘worse than a wanted poster,’ you were thinking. Well, I told her to not even remember me once we’ve driven off, so it’ll be all right.”

It felt strange to Erik, really, to see this kid smiling up at him with his bright blue eyes and infernal babyface, wearing Erik’s too-big sweatshirt and cheap khakis like a set of hand-me-downs and casually admitting to manipulating the memories of strangers. He felt a little shiver skitter up his back, but he couldn’t tell if the knot in his stomach was a thrill or a hint of dread. He started the car instead of allowing himself to dwell on that differentiation. At least showing off his his telepathy seemed to cheer Charles up.

“It does -- immensely,” chimed in Charles out loud as they moved back onto the road. “And, by the way, you did quite well dropping into mental conversation in the diner. It’s very useful for confidential discussions, I’m sure you’ll agree.”

Erik did in fact agree, but he didn’t feel like saying so. That didn’t really matter, though. He could feel Charles brushing at his mind, searching for assent, and he let him because as long as he was looking at Erik’s thoughts, Charles was not focusing on dark memories of the Markos.

Charles too seemed to be looking for some other topic to latch onto. “So how good is your sense of metal?” he asked casually, digging through the change drawer between them, keeping his fingers moving more likely from nerves than anything else. “Is this all stuff you just picked up? Is it comforting to have it in the car with you?”

The incessant rattling of coins annoyed Erik’s already frayed nerves, and it wasn’t as if the Xavier heir would rob him of a handful of quarters and nickels, so he simply held the coins where they were with his powers, trapping Charles’ fingers. “It is nice to have metal nearby, and it does respond to me,” said Erik evenly as if he hadn’t noticed Charles struggling to free his hand. “Of course, there is significantly more metal in the van than in the change dish, you realize.”

Charles pulled his hand to his chest as the coins fell jingling away, but it was back in a moment, and Erik could feel him seizing on an idea, which likely meant trouble. “How much money am I holding?” he demanded, thrusting a fist near Erik’s cheek.

“What?”

Charles shook his fist insistently. “You can sense the size and number of coins, right? So how much am I holding?”

“It’s not a magic trick,” growled Erik, hands tightening on the steering wheel.

Charles squinted at him. “You’re thinking 61 cents!” He opened his hand to reveal two quarters, a dime, and a penny and then gaped at Erik. “That’s amazing!”

“That’s cheating if you read the answers from my mind,” protested Erik, aggrieved.

“Then just tell me next time,” retorted Charles as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. He then subjected Erik to several more rounds of guessing before Erik froze the coins again so he couldn’t pick up any more. Not at all put out, Charles just prodded the unmoving mass adoringly. “It’s really extraordinary, you know. And so useful! Do you use it for cooking too? Or, say, sewing ripped clothing?”

Erik did, which Charles gleaned immediately and grinned about for several minutes.

“Don’t laugh,” snapped Erik, though it was a bit of a relief to see Charles smiling properly. “What’s the point of having an ability and not using it? Maybe some humans might be frightened, but if it makes my life easier and is inherent to who I am, why should I stifle myself to accommodate them?”

Charles expression didn’t fade in the slightest. “Exactly! Which is why I love to see you demonstrate your skills.”

“I’m not a circus animal,” muttered Erik, unused to the positive attention but not inwardly objecting quite as much as he privately felt he ought to. And it wasn’t as if he could honestly fault Charles’ ideology on the matter….

They found a motel in the St. Louis area not too much later and then promptly had an argument about whether or not Charles should wait in the van again while Erik got the room.

“I told you -- I showed you, I can keep people from putting two and two together or even realizing I’m there at all! There’s no reason I can’t go in with you.”

“There will almost definitely be security cameras, which can’t be tricked by your telepathy,” pointed out Erik.

“You manipulate metal,” retorted Charles. “Don’t act like you’ve never taken care of cameras before.”

For a split second, Erik considered lying to win the argument, but the idea of looking weak in front of Charles was equalling unappealing.

Besides, Charles scowled ferociously at him when he opened his mouth. “Don’t pretend you haven’t -- I’ve been in your head; I’ve seen you do it.”

Erik could have sealed him in the van then just to make a point, but Charles stared him down defiantly with his round blue eyes, hands clutching stubbornly at the takeout boxes still in his lap, and Erik found himself grumbling an “oh fine...” He suspected it might be a telepathic trick of persuasion, but he also knew he was mostly just telling himself that.

Charles looked around the small, shabby motel lobby while Erik made the room arrangements and filled out the necessary forms with neatly falsified information. Erik could feel him staying quietly in touch, never quite out of his head, though it wasn’t invasive enough to merit real protest. Erik supposed Charles had interpreted their conversation in the diner as permission to get a little closer mentally; it reminded him of the time he had fed a stray cat some leftovers and it tried to move into his apartment.

“I got us two beds this time so I don’t have to sleep on the floor,” announced Erik as they counted down the room numbers to theirs. “But I think it’s safer if you stay with me. I know the bolts and chains are supposed to make the rooms secure but they’re usually too cheap to be very strong. I, on the other hand, can fuse hinges into solid masses, which makes breaking in much harder.”

Charles padded after him in sneakers two sizes too big (also Erik’s) and looked content. “I don’t mind. I’ve slept in much worse quarters in my university days.” He kicked off the shoes the moment they were in the room before Erik could tell him that was inadvisable in places like these. “I’m showering first.”

Erik took the time to himself to text out some cryptic delay reports to his employers. With so many stops and delays, they’d be expecting him far sooner than they were going to arrive, and whoever had hired him didn’t seem the type to brush it off if it seemed their transporter had absconded with their cargo. Erik made references to mechanical failures he was working on repairing and even generously offered to let them dock it from the final payoff at the end. He received a curt acknowledgement just as Charles turned off the water.

Charles came out, still damp, studying the back of his hand. The needle mark there was just a small smudge with a tiny dot of a scab in the middle now, and he had rubbed off the gummy lines the tape had left. “I feel much better,” he remarked thoughtfully, “pretty much recovered, really. I wish I could take the contents of that IV bag and get some lab results on it. It seems like an ingenious development, really.”

Erik tried not to look visibly disgusted, but he didn’t put much effort into it. “Why would you even want that? Clearly it has terrible purposes and is being weaponized against mutants -- oh, unless I suppose you’re planning to reverse engineer it and use it against whatever organization created it -- and other enemies too, perhaps.”

Charles looked baffled and a little appalled. “I don’t want to use it as a weapon at all! Yes, I think the whole aspect of suppressing mutant powers is horrifying and its use smacks of bigotry, but remember how I woke from a day of being locked away with no food and water and didn’t even feel hungry? I suspect the sedative function operated by slowing my bodily functions and forcing me to approach a state of suspended animation, and do you realize how fascinating and potentially useful that is?”

Erik gaped at him a little, completely caught off guard. “...what?”

Charles was almost pacing now, his eyes shining with excitement and fervor. “It could be life-saving! Trauma victims could be put under until they could receive top-notch care! Those with incurable diseases could wait for medical breakthroughs the way science fiction uses cryogenics! And, if the effect were not limited to complete human bodies, organs for transplant could be preserved for much longer and therefore transported further or held longer to allow for slower, more thorough preparation.”

Erik said nothing for a while, then, his mind still whirling, mumbled, “Well, I never recognized the blessing in that disguise.”

Charles smiled triumphantly. “See? We could get something very helpful and good out of this too. We don’t have to go into this looking only for destruction.” 

Erik was not entirely sure how he felt about that. “Well, uh, I am going to shower now, so go ahead and sleep if you’re tired. You can have either bed; I don’t care.”

Charles shook his head, picking up the TV remote. “I’m not that tired. I’ll probably stay up a while longer, but you take your time.”

Erik thought of Charles’ face when he and his stepfamily had been on the news in the diner and gently plucked the remote out of his hands from across the room. “Maybe...just don’t watch TV.”

As he had expected, Charles was fast asleep when he emerged from the bathroom, curled up under the sheets with the bedside light still on, mouth open ever so slightly, breathing soft and steady. Erik watched him sleep a moment longer than he himself was really comfortable with, but he couldn’t help watching all the same. Then he picked up his phone from the chair in the corner (Charles had left it alone this time), crawled into his own bed, and tugged the lamp chain to turn out the light.


	5. Joyride

He let Charles sleep in, suspecting not all of whatever was in the drip had worn off entirely, no matter how well Charles claimed to be or how excited he might be about alternative uses. Of course, there was also the chance that Charles just slept in naturally, thanks to having always lived a life of leisure. 

Around 10:30, Charles stirred and burrowed briefly under the blankets a bit more, toes poking over the side of the bed before his head emerged again, blue eyes blinking blearily and not entirely in sync with each other. “Where’re we again?”

“St. Louis, Missouri,” Erik informed him, fighting the urge to laugh and wondering at how foreign it felt. “Do you need coffee?” He held out the paper cup from which he had been sipping, the logo of the fast food place down the street stamped on its side.

Charles half sat up and took it gratefully, not even complaining about the cheap quality. He wiped off the lip of the cup with his thumb when he finished, still hazy. “Maybe I’ll catch some of your metal-manipulating powers….”

Erik snorted. “Mutations aren’t contagious; you know that.”

“Science,” hummed Charles with pleasure, taking another mouthful of coffee.

“It’s hardly Bombay Sapphire, but this seemed more appropriate for morning,” put in Erik with a hint of a sly grin.

Charles just looked at him with confusion, then reached out tentatively with his mind to find out what Erik was referencing. His eyes widened and then narrowed a little. “You Wikipedia-ed me.”

Erik shrugged. “And then I YouTubed the video of said commercial. Clever how they made it match your eyes.”

Charles just looked a little disgruntled. “Did you know,” he said primly, “that American advertising regulations stipulate that no one may actually be shown drinking in alcohol commercials? They let me have plenty afterward and one of the makeup boys went home with me, but it was still far less exciting and heady than I had anticipated.”

“I’m sure they would have made you sip water or something equally non-alcoholic even if the footage had been allowed,” Erik pointed out. “I think it would ruin filming if the star threw up on the cameraman.”

“I wouldn’t have!” protested Charles, finishing the coffee without asking Erik if he wanted any more. “The cameraman was very charming, and I usually manage not to vomit on people no matter how drunk I am.”

Erik looked skeptical. 

“Well, you shouldn’t trust Wikipedia anyway,” sniffed Charles. “It says I’m 5’ 6”, and that is definitely a lie.” He sighed and set the cup aside. “All right, I feel properly caffeinated for more driving. Where are we going today?”

Erik paused. “The Arch and the Botanical Garden,” he said at last, and not as smoothly as he had planned.

Charles blinked owlishly at him. “...where?”

Erik very much did not want to admit he had woken up early and spent an hour or so searching for “things to do in St. Louis,” so he said nothing. He especially did not want to admit he had done so because Charles had seemed a bit genuinely put out about Cincinnati, and he barely admitted to himself that he wanted to make sure Charles was all right about the night before. 

Anyway, Charles was grinning broadly already, slipping from the bed. “We’re going sightseeing? Is that all right?”

Erik just shrugged again. “We’re already running late. May as well. Don’t count on hanging around Kansas City, though. There is a limit to the delays we can have.”

“That’s fine, that’s fine,” said Charles hurriedly, now rummaging through Erik’s bag for more clothes. “Did you know, I’ve never been to Missouri. I don’t think I’ve even Wikipedia-ed it.”

Erik decided he was much too happy and excited; it couldn’t be decent. He scowled warningly at Charles. “The Arch is a tourist area, you know. If you can’t keep up the telepathic interference to prevent people from recognizing you, we’re leaving immediately. No second chances or do-overs.”

Charles, the nerve of him, laughed at this. “I think I can manage, my friend. In fact, I don’t think it will take much effort at all. For one thing, people don’t usually study the face of strangers in crowds. And also, if they’re not expecting me, they’re much less likely to recognize me from the start, and no one expects me to show up from my kidnapping at a midwest tourist location with a strange man and wearing hand-me-downs.”

“They’re not hand-me-downs,” cut in Erik. “They’re on loan to you and you do not get to keep them.”

Charles sniffed a shirt and seemed to deem it clean enough because he pulled it on, by all appearances not listening to Erik at all.

For their day out, Erik did not want to deal with parking around the Arch area, so they left the van in the motel parking lot and took a taxi instead. Charles pressed his nose to the window and watched the other cars on the road, but no one even gave him a second glance. Erik resolved to try not to be impressed.

Once at the Arch, Charles just stood at the base and gawked upward. “Well, it’s no Burj Khalifa, but it’s taller than I expected.”

Erik, in spite of himself, found there were some qualities about it that were a little bit well-executed. The shape was smooth and tapered just right in the proper places, and the sleek matte gleam of the exterior was even a tad elegant. He found himself running his hand appreciatively over the metal at the base, feeling the neatly balanced tensions inside countering each other perfectly. 

Charles was smiling stupidly at him when he glanced over again. “You like it too, don’t you?”

Erik tried to look indifferent, annoyed that Charles’ expression should get any sort of reaction from him. 

Charles just grinned and turned toward the entrance. “We’re going inside, of course.” And it really wasn’t a request, but Erik probably wouldn’t have refused even if it had been.

Granted, this did not prevent him from grumbling about how small and cramped the elevator trams were and the annoying voice narrating all the way up and fact that they had to share what he deemed personal space with a young couple from who-knows-where who kept holding hands and giggling. Charles just smiled at them, and Erik thought that it was a good thing he had probably grown up in a luxurious gated compound because he definitely seemed like he would have accepted candy from strangers as a child.

At the top, Charles then had to look out every single window, even if the view was basically the same as long as you had looked out of one on each side. Erik would have been content just to stand there and let Charles go back and forth, but Charles insisted that Erik look with him each time, emphasizing this with little mental nudges every time he noticed something new and interesting. It amounted to a fair bit of walking, really. 

As they left, Erik fell behind for a brief while, and when he caught up, he lightly slapped a tacky touristy baseball cap on Charles’ head. Charles took it off to examine, looking delightedly from it to Erik, radiating joy and excitement and the fact that he might even be a bit touched. 

“Keep it on,” growled Erik, determined to defy any effects. “It’ll at least to hide your face a bit. You smile at people way too much.”

Charles sighed, but the offending smile lingered. “Yes, but none of them have noticed or recognized me, have they? I told you you didn’t need to worry!” He slipped the cap back on anyway.

Erik tapped the brim of the hat with two fingers, knocked it down over Charles’ eyes. “Well, you should keep it on, just in case.”

“Oh, I will,” said Charles warmly.

If the walking back and forth in the Arch was bad, it was nothing compared to the dashing about in the Botanical Garden. Erik found he didn’t mind as much as he felt he ought to, though, and it was good to properly stretch his legs after days of driving. Besides, Charles mercifully interspersed it with reasonable bouts of stillness when he found particularly interesting plants and stopped to examine them minutely. He chattered on at length about cross-pollination and the effects of climate and sunlight versus inherent genetics and the parallels between plants and people.

He also spent a while rhapsodizing about someone named Mendel. Erik found himself sulkily wondering what was so great about this guy until he found out he was the long-dead discoverer of some important scientific concepts, and then he found he didn’t really care so much.

Charles told him how much he enjoyed the day as they rode the taxi back to the motel to get the van, and Erik brushed it away nonchalantly like he toured people around random cities all the time. Even so, he didn’t really mind that Charles continued to go on about it for a while after that. By the time they got to the van, Charles had lapsed into contented silence and still had on both his hat and the smile. “How far are we going tonight?”

Erik paused for a long moment and then answered cautiously. “Kansas City. It’s only a few hours away.”

Charles laughed, and it made Erik prickle less this time. “Oh, I suppose that did sound rather like it might have been a come-on.” He curled up in his seat, turned on the radio to classical music, and spent the ride sending Erik fond little snippets of memory from the day like a vacationer going through a pile of polaroids. Erik had never thought he was particularly photogenic (and mostly he avoided cameras for professional reasons), but at least Charles seemed to think he was. Charles’ memories also employed rather artistic framing, which probably helped.

Traffic wasn’t bad, and they made good time, arriving in Kansas City before too late in the evening, finding a motel with similar arrangements, and getting settled in. Given that two people were currently using his clothes, Erik found it necessary to go out and hunt down a laundromat. Charles wanted to tag along too, no doubt hoping to escape to try some after-dark landmark-hopping, but Erik wanted to wash as much as possible at once, so Charles had to stay in trying to make a toga or something out of a sheet. 

He grumbled under his breath that if only Erik could manipulate fabric instead of metal, he’d have a whole new wardrobe like a fairy tale princess with talking animal friends. Erik thought Charles was more of a woodland creature, really, and he did chatter a lot, but Erik didn’t want to be the princess in this scenario, so he said nothing and refused to allow himself to entertain the train of thought any longer. 

So Erik went out and sat at the laundromat, closing his eyes and just feeling the drum inside go around and around, tumbling their clothes through the water and suds. His clothes, actually; Charles was just wearing them for now. It seemed to him that they could have stopped and bought some more along the way, but then again, shopkeepers always watched one closely, hoping to be able to recommend sizes or complementary styles. Erik did not care to deal with that sort of hovering. Besides, Charles would be gone soon enough, so it was hardly worth the trouble.

That gave him a bit of a pause. 

It wasn’t as if he hadn’t known all along that he’d be delivering Charles to the predetermined destination (and, in fact, there were times when Charles was demanding or wouldn’t shut up that he almost looked forward to it.) It had already been longer than any of the original plans; if he had driven straight through, he’d be handing Charles over right about now, and if he had chosen to take him back to New York like he had originally thought...almost none of this would have happened at all.

Still, instead of the discrete few-day excursions it had always been, it felt like more of a prelude than anything, though Erik couldn’t say what the main piece would be at all. He wondered idly if Charles wanted to go through with it still or if he’d vote to just keep driving until they hit California and blended in, losing their pursuers and themselves in the beach crowds. Of course, neither of them tanned much, so Erik realized there would likely be little actual “blending in,” though he suspected Charles might freckle profusely.

Besides, Erik simply wasn’t the type to run away with anyone or anything. Nor did he want to. He nodded emphatically to himself over this point as he loaded the laundry into the nearest empty dryer. He was a reliable, ruthless transporter with a solid reputation for finishing the jobs he accepted, and he wasn’t averse to swiftly and decisively removing obstacles in his way. He had a comfortable, solitary livelihood to maintain, and it wasn’t really a business one just arbitrarily quit, not with those sorts of networks. 

Really, he told himself, this whole unanticipated set of complications had been an infuriating mess and he’d be glad to rid himself of it when he handed over Charles, collected his money, and drove all the way back to New York with no tedious stops for sightseeing. When it all came down to it, every single thing that had not gone as planned this run was Charles’ fault, and there was no reason it wouldn’t all fall back into place once that one factor was out of the picture. 

Erik resolved to use some of the payoff to buy himself some nice scotch and drink it in perfectly pleasant silence back in his apartment, a toast to the convenience of solitude.

He was not sure why he felt reasonably certain Charles would laugh at that.

When he returned, Charles was sprawled out on one of the beds, far too comfortable in his wrinkled sheet-wrap (oh right, used to this sort of thing), doodling double helixes on the thin pad of paper that had been left by the phone. He looked up hopefully when Erik walked back in, and for a moment, Erik almost felt bad for leaving him alone with no books or TV and nothing to think about besides his greedy stepfamily and missing sister. 

Charles, however, did not seem to hold it against him and instead simply set about taking first pick of the clean clothes for the next day, seizing the moment of Erik’s hesitation to manage it un-reprimanded. “You’re so skinny,” he said, holding up a shirt and looking it over with a critical eye. 

“I’m not,” snapped Erik, snatching it away. This was much better; bickering was far more comfortable. “I’m...lean. After all, I managed to carry _you_ up a flight of stairs the night I found you and that was some dead weight.”

Charles looked indignant. “How can I be too heavy for you! I’m smaller than you are!”

“Yes,” retorted Erik, “but you’re solid. If you ever tried to carry yourself, you’d know.”

“My legs carry me everywhere I need to go without a problem,” huffed Charles. “And I think I’m normal, just not skinny like you.” He seized Erik’s wrist, fingers wrapping around as if to assess just how thin and bony it might be. “Besides, whoever thought of carrying themselves? That’s silly and impossible.”

Erik just looked down his nose at Charles. “I can carry myself, you know. All I need is a disc of metal wide enough to stand on or be wearing enough, and I can lift myself that way. It’s a very convenient if somewhat attention-grabbing method of getting places, and I assure you I have enough weight for real strength without being too bulky. Besides, I don’t see why you should care that I call you solid unless you’re expecting me to carry you again. And that, I promise, is not happening any time soon.”

Charles ignored him, running fingers up his arm. “No, definitely skinny. Look, this line under your skin is your ulna and maybe a few tendons.”

Erik paused, watching Charles’ hand travel over his skin, and he promptly forgot the stinging retort he was about to dish out with satisfying finality. He was too distracted to mourn the waste of a good zinger, though. 

Charles’ hands froze, and he pulled away flushing pink as if he had heard all the unsolicited thoughts that had poured through Erik’s mind in that moment. “Sorry...sorry...you don’t like being touched….”

Erik turned away, unsure of how to reply, wanting to tell Charles it was all right but also afraid to say anything of the sort. Instead, he blurted out, “We’re driving all day tomorrow; we should get some sleep,” and felt oddly disappointed when Charles simply agreed.


	6. Dead End

For once, they got an early start the next day, though Charles grumbled about mornings and tried to take Erik’s sunglasses. Erik told him to use his new hat if he wanted something to block out the light, and Charles spent the first hour like that, drowsing and sending little annoyed thoughts about daylight in Erik’s direction. He perked up a bit when they did drive-through breakfast, and by the time he had finished what were clearly synthetic eggs sandwiched between fluffed cardboards, he seemed to be in a much better mood.

Charles fiddled with the radio a bit and found NPR, which was apparently unnaturally exciting, and then he spent half an hour shouting out answers to _Wait, Wait...Don’t Tell Me!_ until Erik threatened him with the crate again and turned the radio off without removing his hands from the steering wheel. Charles tried pointing out that Erik had actually known an answer or two, but his appeal was overruled.

After ten minutes or so of silence, Erik spoke up, figuring he might as well ask while he had the chance. “So why’d you change so abruptly?”

Charles didn’t look surprised at the question, though his expression did go a bit pensive. “A lot of people have answered that.”

“But not you,” pointed out Erik. “You just sort of fell of the tabloid radar for a while, and when you reappeared, you announced you wanted to work for mutant rights and further human-mutant cooperation, talked about setting up some sort of foundation, and began posting articles and essays calling for regulation reforms and open debates with diverse representation. To say it was unexpected would be a bit of an understatement.”

Charles gave a small, wry smile. “And none of the explanations you’ve seen have been satisfactory?”

“I don’t really care, to be honest,” said Erik lightly. “But now that I’ve spent a bit of time stuck with you, none of them seem to make that much sense. Doesn’t seem like you suddenly found religion or had sense knocked into you in rehab or something. And I can confirm that you didn’t sprout some terrible physical mutation later in life that you keep concealed under your clothing.”

Charles did laugh at that one. “No, I suppose none of those could be called ‘accurate’....”

“So what was it?” nudged Erik.

Charles expression softened and he shook his head slightly. “I suppose...I suppose I was just tired. Attention is delightful and all that, but the charm wears off rather more quickly when you can hear what they’re really thinking about you, you know? That’s what I appreciate about you, you say the harsh things and think the kind ones, which is the opposite of most people.”

Erik went for no comment there. 

“Anyway,” continued Charles, “my telepathy has only grown stronger as I’ve gotten older, and soon I was hearing things that weren’t even directed at me. You already seem quite aware of it, but to hear how much prejudice there is in regular society against mutants was...shocking and dismaying. People who acted with flawless poise and etiquette around me harbored ugly thoughts, particularly against mutants without money or social status.

“When it first started getting stronger, a steady supply of alcohol and some experiments with certain drugs kept it at bay enough, and I found I didn’t care so much if my public reputation suffered. I was already an outsider among ‘proper’ people, but others who drank like I did were never sober enough to form any sort of coherent rejection of me, which was good enough at the time. But I got stronger, and it stopped working.”

Erik frowned. “If you got that strong, couldn’t you just change their minds for them, plant acceptance, something like that?”

Charles shook his head vehemently. “Of course not! I don’t think I could reach everyone in the world, and even if I could, I wouldn’t want to take away their free will like that. Besides, moves like that could be perceived as aggression, which could precipitate backlash with unbearable consequences. At this point, it is in our best interest to present a unified, peaceful front and demonstrate the value of cooperation and coexistence.”

“Put that in a YouTube video,” remarked Erik, a hint of a scoff in his voice.

Charles looked a little sulky. “I did, in fact. I don’t see why you watched my Bombay Sapphire spot and not the speeches I so carefully crafted and uploaded.”

“You should try making a speech while drinking Bombay Sapphire,” suggested Erik unhelpfully.

Charles cleared his throat. “ _Anyway_ , after one particularly vicious incident at a party involving a poor young bartender who could extrude spikes from his skin, I decided I had had enough. Well, Raven decided I had had enough, took me home, and brought me meals and listened to me while I had a bit of a quarter-life crisis or something like that. And once that was out of my system, I started making plans, and then I started making calls, and I realized I very much did want to make this better. I know it will take a while for people to come to really take me seriously, but my resources are such that I would be remiss not to use them. Besides, I’m sure my professors at Oxford will be thrilled to hear I actually remember some of what they taught me.”

His earnestness was almost painful, but Erik found he didn’t have it in himself to shoot him down over this. He still had trouble envisioning exactly how it would work, and he still felt there was a solid number of humans who could do with a good conquering by the next stage of evolution, but that was for another discussion they were probably never going to have the time to have.

“I know rational discourse doesn’t find many welcoming ears nowadays,” continued Charles, his jaw set determinedly, “but I think it’s better than fighting in the long run. And obviously I’m not above putting myself in harm’s way if I think it’s the best way to save lives and bring attention to a dangerous problem. It’s not as if I want to stay above the actual struggles that mutants experience in today’s society.”

“And here you are,” said Erik, his tone not quite as sarcastic as he had meant it to be, “ready to do your part for the mutant cause.”

“What about you?” asked Charles guilelessly.

“Me?”

“What are you going to do to help?”

This caught Erik entirely off-guard. “Um...drive the van?”

Charles looked mildly disappointed. “You are capable of so much more, you know.”

“Yes, I do know.”

Charles expression shifted into mild exasperation. “But, if you were willing, you could be a great deal of help on this. It could be useful to have someone outside. I’ll be infiltrating from within, but you could track locations, unlock doors, tear away gates… If we needed to bring in the authorities or help get me and others out, your powers could be invaluable.”

Erik continued to give him unconvinced glances. “And what exactly is your plan anyway? You barely know the general location of this place, let alone what the inside of the facility is like.”

“That’s true,” admitted Charles, “but in a lot of ways that doesn’t matter so much to me. As long as I have minds on which I can work, it should be fine.”

“They have suppressants and sedatives,” Erik pointed out.

Charles nodded but didn’t seem all that worried. “Well, I feel fairly confident I can convince them I am unconscious, which should mean they’ll see no need to sedate me further. After that, they’ll take me in, and I should be able to investigate properly and as I please.”

Erik looked doubtful. “And how will you get out, then?”

“I’ll simply have them let me out,” declared Charles, pleased.

“What happened to free will?” asked Erik, raising an eyebrow.

Charles rolled his eyes. “That’s different. Momentary control for preserving my safety and wellbeing is different from altering another person’s fundamental beliefs and the shape of their worldview. Besides, you’re not even really concerned with the ethical implications anyway.”

Erik wasn’t going to try to argue that one. “Well, I’m also not so sure about jumping in on one of your harebrained schemes, all right? You don’t even have to go through with this.”

“Of course I do!” exclaimed Charles. “Raven is in there, and who knows how many other mutants might be trapped and sedated!”

Erik was silent, remembering with a flash of guilt the many other crates he had transported. “Well….”

“I understand,” said Charles, almost sounding weary. “It’s your job, what puts food on the table for you, and it’s not fair of me to put that pressure on you. You don’t have the financial cushion and leeway for survival that I do if something goes wrong. You think I don’t know what I’m asking, but I do. And I understand why you would say no.”

That was really the worst possible thing he could have said, and Erik hated that he said it so kindly on top of it all. The silence seemed like he ought to thank Charles for his graciousness or something to that effect, but he couldn't bring himself to say anything at all. 

Charles quietly turned on the radio to let soft music fill the silence. He didn’t ask Erik again or push him to reconsider, and when he slouched down a little the brim of his St. Louis baseball cap hid his eyes.

After another half hour or so, though, he was back to his chatty self, asking Erik about the history of the area and if he had ever run into anything strange while passing through. He kept an eye out for wildlife and counted the number of different state license plates he saw. Occasionally he asked Erik if he could manipulate the metal so that the numbers and letters were different, though after some consideration he decided that was probably illegal and shouldn’t be encouraged. It was like traveling with an inquisitive child who also knew a great deal about biology, and Erik wished it would never end. 

But the hours flew by more quickly than they ever had the other times Erik had made the drive over the flat nothingness, and they found themselves cutting through Denver shortly after dark. Charles had gone quiet again, looking out the window but somehow feeling strangely close. Erik resisted the urge to reach out to him. 

“I guess you’ll get your clothes back,” said Charles softly as they pulled into an abandoned lot about 15 minutes from the drop-off point. “Drive safely on the way back, all right?”

Erik didn’t open his door just yet. “Yeah...and you...you be careful.”

Charles gave him another bright smile, the kind he had seen all the time the past few days and still wasn’t tired of. “Of course. I’ll be very careful, and then I’ll be back and making more YouTube videos than ever. You’d better watch at least one or two.”

“Right, right, if I have time,” said Erik noncommittally. He sat there and looked at Charles helplessly, his head full of things to say, his hands aching to reach out and brush his cheek before he vanished like a ghost, but he couldn’t do any of these things.

Charles just smiled and clasped his hand warmly. “You’ve made the past few days very pleasant -- far more than they had any right to be. Thank you for that, my friend.”

Erik just squeezed his hand back and felt even more lost, so he opened the driver’s side door instead. “We’d better get moving. They’ll be expecting us.”

Charles nodded and slipped from his side to walk around to the back. 

It had only been days, but it might as well have been years since Erik opened the back of the van, and he half expected it to be coated in dust and cobwebs. The crate was still there in its collapsed, flattened form, the chains lying scattered about.

“We’ll have to empty out most of the IV bag,” Charles remarked, climbing in and picking it up. “They’ll wonder about the past few days if it’s full.” He looked at it wistfully as he handed it to Erik. “We should have bought tupperware or something to seal a sample in for later testing. You could have taken it back to New York for me.”

“I’m sure you can get a better sample once you actually get inside the labs where it was developed,” said Erik, pricking a small hole at the top and tilting it to drain most of the liquid onto the ground. 

Charles looked comforted at the thought of this. “Yes, that’s true. I suppose I don’t need to worry too much.” He undressed carefully, crouching in the back of the van and folding up Erik’s clothes for him and laying them neatly near the doors. He smoothed the shirt absently before going back to curl up on the floor of the crate. Erik climbed into the back too, carrying the mostly empty IV bag and the first aid kit from under the front seat, taking out the medical tape, focusing on the task at hand and not on exactly how far the freckles extended over Charles’ skin.

“You should put the needle in a little at least,” said Charles, looking at it as he sat down in the center of the crate pieces. “My hand can’t be all healed over, if you think about it.”

So Erik swabbed the area and the needle with alcohol and slipped it lightly into the vein, collapsing it in the middle so the remaining liquid wouldn’t actually flow through it. Charles smiled gratefully when he carefully taped it in place. He watched him as the sides of the crate lifted themselves up and secured themselves into walls again, and he kept his eyes on Erik’s face until the lid came down and blocked him from view. _Well done,_ said an affectionate voice in Erik’s head as the chains secured the crate again to keep it from sliding about during the short upcoming drive.

And even when Erik climbed back behind the wheel and started the engine, he could still feel the touch of Charles in his mind and the gentle rhythmic pulse of the needle in his hand. He drove slowly as if afraid a deer might leap out onto the road, but nothing materialized to stop him. 

He didn’t recognize the brawny men at the drop-off point hired to take the crate from him, but his client cycled through muscle regularly, so he didn’t question it. He did think they weren’t nearly as careful as they ought to have been when they unloaded his cargo, but he glared at them and said nothing. Another man, this one wearing a suit and with a build much more suited for deskwork, approached him. “Sir, if you would just follow me for a moment, we can arrange the final details of your pay…”

Erik tore his eyes away from the crate. “Oh. Oh yes, let’s settle that.” Charles’ touch on his mind intensified briefly, then slowly let go, fading as he walked away.

The man led him to a small temporary building, like the trailers set up for offices at construction sites. “If you’ll just wait here a moment,” said the man pleasantly, opening the door for Erik, “I will be right with you.”

There was a chair, a desk, and a television, the last playing some sort of inane talk show. Erik sat in the chair and waited. At this rate, if they paid him quickly enough, he would probably be able to leave speedily and follow Charles’ crate to wherever they were taking him. He could get the location like Charles had suggested, break a few locks on the gates if that was how they were secured, and maybe make sure there didn’t seem to be anything too horrible going on. Charles would be surprised and maybe pleased to see him again (if he managed to see him again), and if he was late getting back to New York, his employers couldn’t begrudge him a little bit of a break after such a long trip.

He was distracted by a slurring in the talk show guest’s voice on television. Celebrities showing up drunk everywhere… But no, maybe it was a problem with the TV itself -- the picture wasn’t quite in focus, and in fact, it seemed to be warping a little. He reached out to twitch the wires inside, trying to adjust it so it would stop annoying him, but nothing seemed to help. If anything, the picture quality flickered and worsened. 

It bothered him that he should care so much about a stupid TV program he had never watched, especially when he was losing time he could be using to go after Charles, but now he had to do something about the screen, so he stood and went over to see if kicking the old boxy set might address the problem.

His legs betrayed him when he tried to stand, and he tumbled heavily to the ground with outraged confusion. Sure, it had been a bit of a trip and maybe he would have preferred not to send Charles off like that, but none of this merited a complete collapse like this. 

But then he turned and glanced toward the far wall where something metal was trembling slightly. A pale, misty vapor was filtering through the air conditioning vent, and had been for a while, it seemed. Whatever mechanism outside that was pumping it in was mostly plastic, but he could feel some of the screws and rivets in it trembling a little as it worked. He strained for them, trying to pull them out or jam them in the workings, but already he was too weakened, and his very non-Charles-y voice in his head was berating him mercilessly for assuming the sedative had to be injected.

 _I guess I’m getting into this now, whether I like it or not,_ he mused as the room faded out of focus. _I would have liked to have made the choice myself, though. I wonder if Charles will be happy or disappointed…._ As he passed out completely, he felt the door open, and men in gas masks brought in a familiar crate toward him. He didn’t try to fight them; he couldn’t even fight the blackness closing in.


	7. Detour

Erik awoke to a distant feeling of suffocation. His airways were clear and his oxygen levels normal, but something inside every inch of him felt constricted and paralyzed, just shy of painful, and his eyes would not open. He reached out to sense his surroundings, but even that was hazy. He could sense walls around him, metal in the frame of the bed supporting him, wires in some sort of devices nearby, a needle in the back of his hand…. 

He was vaguely aware of hands touching him, feeling the side of his neck and his forehead with practiced ease, warm with smooth calluses. He wanted to shove them away, to snap the wrists and demand information, but he couldn’t even pull the needle from his skin. But the touch was gentle and not exactly hostile, and he heard the beeping of monitors quicken as he allowed himself a glimmer of hope. “Charles…”

The hands stopped abruptly, pulling away. “What did you just say?” asked the hushed, urgent voice of a young man. Erik didn’t recognize it, and his heart sank.

The hands moved down his arm, and with a careful motion, they removed the tape and pulled out the needle, pressing gauze over it to stop the beads of blood from welling up. 

“Breathe,” instructed the voice, soft but businesslike. “You’ll be able to open your eyes in a few minutes. They seem to have miscalculated your dosage.”

One hand stayed resting on his, more reassuring than affectionate, a promise not to leave just yet. He did as instructed, focusing on steadying his inhaling and exhaling, trying not to let himself wonder where Charles might be. After a little more time, he tried opening his eyes, but they felt like slabs of marble, painfully heavy and stubborn. He wanted to rub them, to hold them open, to do anything to help, but his hands were still unmoving. At last, a face swam into view, blurry with dark-ish skin and black, curling hair. “Who are you?”

But the young man ignored his question and leaned forward. “You said ‘Charles’?” His eyes flickered with concern and interest and a hint of golden yellow.

Erik blinked a few times, things clicking slowly into place. “...Raven?”

The young man’s eyes widened further, and then his face rippled into something paler, rounder, blond, and then the peachy paleness gave way to deep blue and orange. Golden eyes narrowed at him. “How much do you know?”

Talking was still difficult, but he could feel his fingertips again. “Charles told me….”

Her grip on his hand tightened, and he briefly regretted regaining feeling there. “You know where Charles is?”

The question hit him in the gut, draining him more than the sedatives, and for a moment, he stopped fighting. “I thought you might know where they took him.”

Her expression clouded, and she squared her shoulders. She might not have been related to Charles by blood, but she set her jaw the same way he did. “I think you’re gonna have a lot to explain about what happened since I last saw you.”

He would have laughed if his ribs had allowed it yet. “And there is a great deal I want to hear about what happened since I last saw you -- and yes, I most definitely saw you following me.”

She gave a cold little smile. “And under what circumstances did my brother tell you about me?” Her hand reached for the needle again. “Did you have him in one of the crates in the back of your van like all the others?”

This really wasn’t the sort of first impression he wanted to give when meeting Charles’ family. 

Her hand reached for some more of the dials on the machinery nearby. “I don’t have my brother’s telepathy, so I guess I’ll have to go with more old-fashioned methods of information gathering. Keep in mind that if they underdosed you when you arrived, it would be just as easy to pretend I hadn’t meant to pump you so full of the drug that your heart stopped altogether. Something to consider while you’re still immobile.” The needle pricked the surface of his skin, and he wasn’t able to deflect it completely, much to his annoyance. 

“You’ve got it wrong,” he snapped at her. “Your brother _was_ in a crate, all right? But I didn’t know that when I picked him up. They didn’t tell me I’d be transporting people as part of the job. But then he...he got into my head, and he asked me to help him.”

Raven studied him, her eyes still harsh and questioning. “He asked you that? What kind of help did he want from you?”

“He wanted me to take him here, to help him find you.” His voice was soft, but he knew he was laying an ace on the table with that. “He said at first he thought you had gone missing because I had done something to you.”

But if he expected her to cry or at least tear up or show some other display of emotion at the mention of her presumably beloved brother, he was disappointed. Raven rolled her eyes and clicked her tongue with annoyance. “So he got himself kidnapped? For a kid with a few advanced degrees already, sometimes he is such an idiot.”

Erik was torn between being shocked at her cavalier attitude and agreeing wholeheartedly. 

Raven brandished the needle at him, her expression still stern. “So you brought him to the drop-off, but you’d better not have kept him in the back the whole time.”

It was Erik’s turn to be indignant. “I will have you know that he rode shotgun and played with the radio entirely too much. Are you going to also be angry that I didn’t let him drive?”

Raven waved that comment away with another gesture reminiscent of Charles. “I assumed you didn’t let him drive because you arrived in one piece. That, at least, was a good call. but then how did you end up here? I’m guessing they didn’t politely ask you if you wanted to sign up to participate in a scientific survey.”

Erik frowned darkly. “It was an ambush, really. I would have seen it coming if I hadn’t done this run several times before -- not knowing what was in the crates, of course -- and never had a problem before now. I assumed they didn’t even know I had a mutation, but it seems they found out. They were very deliberate about how they took me down.”

Raven looked intrigued. “And your power is…?”

“Metal manipulation,” he admitted. By now he felt strong enough to stop a measly needle, so if she wanted to do something to him, she’d have to find another method.

But Raven just gave him a faint smile, this one a tad warmer than before. “Charles must have loved that.” 

He nodded a little, telling himself his voice was soft because he was still recovering. “Yeah, he did.” He only let the silence linger a moment before clearing his throat. “So given that I didn’t kidnap you or knock you off, and seeing as how you don’t seem to be a prisoner, how exactly _did_ you end up here and why haven’t you called Charles to say you’re alive?”

Raven shrugged. “I misread the situation. I took the face of one of the low-level clinicians -- not likely to have too much detailed knowledge required at the start -- figured I could borrow his face for a week and get an idea of what was going on, maybe document some problems and release them. After all, Charles has been dying to crack this thing open, save some people, show that he means business with his activism thing. 

“Well, turns out the facility is pretty well locked down, cell signals are blocked, landlines are heavily monitored, and the lower levels work six-month shifts without going outside. Honestly, I’m surprised none of the employees have snapped and wrecked the thing for us. On the upside, I’ve gotten a lot of information. Things are pretty heavily alarmed and sealed up, so I wasn’t sure if I was going to have to put in my six months or risk sneaking out early, but if you’re fairly strong, we could wreck the place with your powers and break out in style.” Her expression hardened. “Not without Charles, of course. Now that you’ve brought him here and gotten him _stuck_.”

Erik refused to rise to the bait, looking back with an equally challenging glint in his eye. “Well, if you’ve got inside system access, you can just look up ‘Charles Xavier’ and find out where they’re holding him, right? Should be simple.”

Raven sat back a little. “Well, not exactly. I don’t have all the details or all the access authorities. I started out as one of the lowest ranks, remember? But I’ve been stealing logins and passwords up the chain for a while, so I should have more information soon.”

Erik looked thoughtful. “I can help with interrogation.”

She looked distinctly uninterested. “That won’t be necessary; I’m pretty capable of managing for myself, and you’d be surprised how many of them have that information written on post-it notes on their desks. Besides, we’ll need to be on the lookout for other clues as well. The...patients here are labeled very carefully -- to protect their anonymity and avoid bias in the medical trials, they claim. There are no names on record, only numbers, which makes it all that much harder to search and track.”

“Clean statistics instead of people,” said Erik, his lips curling with disdain.

Raven nodded. “Hasn’t made my job any easier, I can tell you that. But I think there are more details being collected; I just don’t have access yet.”

Erik scowled but found he could twitch his toes now. “So what do we do?”

Raven patted his hand, though he got the distinct impression she might have been laughing at him a little. “Well, for now you stay put and try not to get excited while you recover your strength. They do keep an eye on the readings from the monitors hooked up to you, so if these go haywire, someone’s going to come poking around, and it might not be me then.”

Erik shrugged, closed his eyes, and concentrated for a moment. “There,” he said at last.

She looked at him curiously. 

“Basic monitors are easy,” he said nonchalantly. “Cross a few wires and they don’t send alerts for unusual readings anymore. Problem solved.”

She gave him a genuine grin this time. “Oh yes, you’ll be useful enough to keep around.” Then she straightened. “But for now you stay in bed. They’ll leave you alone as long as they think you’re still under, but all the halls have cameras, and you’re in a hospital gown. Just focus on recovering and stretching your powers.”

He looked at her accusingly. “You’re going to be out looking for Charles.”

She patted his head, knowing he still couldn’t swat her hand away. “Of course I am, and I’ll be doing it without you underfoot. Besides, I know the place a lot better than you do. But don’t worry, I’ll bring you something to do soon enough. In the meantime, maybe take a nap.”

He glared at her a little. “I could fuse the door latch so you couldn’t get out until you agreed to let me go too.”

She just shook her head pityingly. “Maybe in a few hours you could, but work on sitting up first. Baby steps, baby steps.”

He scowled at her as she turned into the clinician again and stood up to leave. 

Halfway to the door, she stopped and turned around. “Hey, you got a name? Like, not just an assigned number?”

He nodded. “Erik,” he said.

He slept for a while, though with no windows or clock, he couldn’t be sure exactly how long. When he awoke, he could sit up and move all his limbs, though precision was still something of a challenge. He pulled the sensor pads from his skin with his hands (there was something satisfying about the gesture that wouldn’t be the same with his powers) and was pleased to note that the monitor didn’t seem to notice. He tried tying little knots in the wires to get reacquainted with his metal control, but while the results were much more earbuds-left-in-pocket than sea-hardened-sailor, it did feel good just to make things move again.

After another hour or so, he stood and tested his legs, walking around the bed, leaning on its frame, then doing slow rounds leaning against the walls of the room. He thought a little bit about the stories he’d heard of prisoners who went insane in solitary confinement.

He was standing in the middle of the room, not leaning on anything at all when Raven returned, shifting into her blue shape as soon as the door shut behind her. She gave him a “not bad” shrug and a nod. “Pretty determined, huh. Don’t tell me you’re planning to bust out of here on your own. That would be terribly inconvenient, and I don’t particularly enjoy having my plans thrown off.”

“But you grew up with Charles,” said Erik dryly, and she laughed.

“Touché. Here, I swiped these for you.” She laid an armful of things on the bed, handing them to him one by one. “Grabbed you some scrubs. While I will admit you gave me a lovely flash of ass when I walked into the room before you turned around, I understand a man needs his dignity once in a while. So there you go. I also grabbed you these--” a paper bag with the top folded down “--just a sandwich and some packaged ‘energy food,’ whatever that is, from the mess hall. If the drug’s worn off that much already, you’ll be feeling hungry soon. 

“Speaking of which, maybe you found it already, but if you push that last panel in the far wall, it’s a storage-closet-sized bathroom. Lucky for you, with as many ‘patients’ as they’ve been taking in, they had to convert a few of the clinician dorms into recent intake rooms. The rooms with those in long-term stasis have nothing but beds and monitors.”

He felt more glad of his ‘good fortune’ than he cared to admit out loud, but she didn’t seem to be looking for effusive gratitude anyway. He just pulled on the scrubs and tossed the gown in a corner, feeling a bit closer to being a person again. “And that?” he asked, gesturing to the tablet on the bed near the bag of food. “Does it come pre-loaded with games and educational apps so I’ll have something to keep me occupied while you’re doing real work?”

She picked it up, turned it on, and handed it to him, smiling almost sweetly. “Brought you some chores to do while you’re minding the house.” She tapped a few files, bringing up charts and lists. “These are patient intake records, but as you can see, there’s nothing but numbers and descriptions of mutation-related powers and features. I’m checking rooms now, but you can go through and search for any terms that might be Charles. So far, ‘telepathy’ turns up nothing, but since you’ll have time, you can try other possibilities and, I don’t know, scan for things that might be code. 

“You’re in the folders I have access to right now, but I’ve also got a folder on the tablet itself where I’ve saved relevant files in case anyone catches on and starts deleting anything. It syncs wirelessly with a device on my person while I’m close enough to get around the dampening effects of the facility.”

Erik flicked through the sheets and lists with boredom bordering on impatient indignation.

Raven just studied his face with an expression of tolerant amusement. “Yes, yes, I know you’re capable of so much more and this is a waste of your talents and so on and so forth. But don’t worry your pretty chiseled head about it; I’ll be the first to let you warp an I-beam or two when the going gets good. All right? But no pulling things apart until we find Charles.”

He couldn’t really argue with that, so he just nodded. “All right. And what will you be doing?”

She frowned. “I’ll be checking more rooms -- as many as I can without raising suspicion or looking like I’m slacking on the duties I’m supposed to be managing according to my cover.”

He pulled the sandwich from the bag and started eating, still studying her instead of looking at the files again. “You haven’t found anything yet?”

She hesitated. “I...I heard rumors that they brought in a telepath. Someone was talking about a ‘psychic,’ but I have a feeling it was Charles.”

Erik couldn’t help grinning ever so slightly. “Charles would hate that. He’s picky about terms.”

The corners of Raven’s mouth twitched. “Yeah, he is. But he won’t give you a hard time about it unless he likes you enough to really want you to get it right. He must have really liked you.”

Erik squinted at her, never quite sure whether or not she was laughing at him. “He seemed to enjoy the trip, at least. But if they say he’s here, he should be in one of the...recent intake rooms, right? So, maybe close to here.”

Raven shook her head helplessly. “I’ve checked them, though. Those were the first ones I went through, and all I found was you.”

Erik was unamused. “Trust me, I only felt disappointment when you found me, too.”

“You were disappointed I wasn’t Charles as well?” she asked innocently. It was unnerving, really, the way she was so sure she could see through him.

He sat back down on the bed, scowling and turning his attention to the tablet again. “Don’t be absurd. Go out and keep looking. I’ll check the records.”

She nodded. “I’ll check back in shortly. We have to find him soon, though. If they do have him here, I don’t think they’ll leave him much time. There won’t be much leeway.”

Erik looked up again, eyes hard. “What does that mean?”

She looked surprised and then a little pitying. “You...really have no idea what’s going on in here, do you? I thought maybe you were playing dumb so I wouldn’t blame you for transporting mutants to this place, but…”

He scowled at her to hide the dread welling up inside him. “I’m not an idiot. Charles and I figured out the suppressant-sedative combination quite quickly -- about the second day, I think. Charles was even a bit excited about the potential medical uses.”

She just looked grave now, not allowing room for fondness to slip through even at this mention.

“So obviously they’re refining the drug and experimenting with other methods of delivery into our systems,” he continued because he didn’t want to think about what he might learn once he stopped talking. “We’re guinea pigs, lab rats for them to check for usefully adverse side effects.”

Raven stepped forward, gently taking the tablet from his hands and opening another sheet before handing it back. 

He read it, and his brow knit. “‘Surgery schedule’....? But the drug….”

She really did look like she might pity him this time. “The drug is only half of it. Now that they have that...well, think about all the things you can learn from an abnormal body put into stasis so that it won’t die no matter how much you cut it open and poke around.”

The implications hit Erik in a sickening rush.

She just looked grim, turning away to actually leave this time. “Don’t worry. I actually know your patient number, so I was able to move you on the schedule. They’re not due to come for you for another week, at least for now.”

He watched the door close behind her; Charles almost certainly did not have a week.


	8. Roundabout

Erik was properly pacing the room when Raven came back with more food and a faint look of despair, and he seemed about ready to fling the tablet across the room. The bed had already been dismantled, screws embedded in the walls and scattered across the floor. Taking it all in, she looked almost approving. “Well, seems like you’re feeling better.”

He tossed the tablet at her, not really caring if she caught it or not (she did). “Nothing. No vaguely brain-related mutations, nothing in the surgery schedule that might indicate any sort of mind tests or experiments. Are you even sure they’re keeping him at this facility?”

Raven looked like she didn’t much like this suggestion at all. “There are no records of any other facilities. The project is new enough and secret enough that they don’t seem to have the resources to spread out much. Besides, you brought him to the same drop-off point as the others, right? And they’re all here, so he should be too.”

Erik raised his hands a bit defensively. “I’m just saying that if he isn’t here, he has to be somewhere else. That’s simple logic, you have to admit.”

Raven didn’t even bother trying to hide her irritation at this. “Look, I’ve checked everywhere I can get in, and I think the rest of the areas are mostly labs and computers and such. I was pretty sure I had access to all of the patient areas.”

“Well then you must have missed some places,” started Erik before Raven silenced him with a you’re-saying-obvious-things-again glare.

“What I’m saying,” continued Raven, not even acknowledging his comment, “is that you seem to be recovered, and I think your powers would be useful for getting me into some of the areas I can’t card into or don’t know the access codes for, so I am inviting you to join me in the search for a bit.”

Erik’s temper cooled immediately. “Leave this cell?” he asked carefully, warily.

She rolled her eyes a little. “They insist that they’re ‘patient rooms,’ you know. If you’re going to be out and wandering around, you need to either use proper terminology or not say anything at all. Capiche?”

He just smirked at her a little. “I knew you’d find there was only so much you could do without me.”

She threw a badge at him, and it stuck to his hand when he caught it. “Put that on. If you wear that and stick with me, everyone will just assume you’re assisting me on a cleanup or routine stasis check. Absolutely no wandering off on your own. You don’t want to hear what their lost child page over the intercom sounds like.”

Erik studied the badge. “The previous owner of this, at least according to the identifying photo, is bald,” he pointed out.

Raven just shrugged. “No one will check it. No one cares about janitors and the like here. It's the best way to stay invisible, really -- unless you have that as a secondary mutation you’re keeping secret.”

Erik clipped it to the front of his scrubs. “I assure you, I do not.”

“And by the way,” she added in crisp tones as she shifted back into the clinician. “I should clarify that I don’t _need_ you for this. I am perfectly capable of getting the cards and codes I need, but you are currently the faster option. If you prove not to be, I will see you returned to your cell without a moment’s delay.”

“‘Patient room,’” he reminded her. He felt sure Charles would have laughed at that.

As tedious as it had been waiting in a tiny, windowless room for Raven to drop in now and then, the halls outside his door were actually not all that much better. The walls were still a neutral off-white with cameras dotting the way, doors lining the corridor, each needing to be carded open for any access. Raven had a few cards, most of which did not belong to the face she was currently borrowing, but she used them anyway.

“I want to check the other recent intake rooms first,” said Erik quietly before they got too far.

“I checked them already,” Raven reminded him.

He nodded. “I know. But...but I want to see for myself at least once. And...if they’re recent, they’re probably mine. I feel as if I should see their faces.”

She gave him a curious look at this but did not object. “We can’t spend too long...just a quick once-over, all right?” But she carded the door open anyway, even before he answered.

The room was much like the one where he had languished his short while, though this one was slightly bigger and held three beds, all of which were occupied. Raven flicked on the light, and he stepped in, looking about. There were two young men and a young woman, all lying still as corpses with matching needles in their hands, their monitors beeping slowly and not quite in sync. They couldn’t have been over 25. Erik took a slow, measured breath and the screens by the beds flickered.

Raven stepped forward, reaching out a hand to rest on his arm.

“I’m going to wake them,” he said, his voice low and dangerous.

Raven’s fingers tightened on his arm. “You what?”

“I could pull all their needles out right now with a wave of my hand,” he insisted. “I brought them here, and I can offer them the chance to free themselves. Without the drug, they could use their powers freely to destroy those who seek to harm and profit from them while denying their true nature. Would you tell me to just leave them here?”

“Yes,” said Raven evenly, her eyes coolly studying his face. “I would. For now, at least. At the moment, you have no escape plan, no time to explain their situation to them or guide them, and no idea what their individual mutations are. You can't even tell them all that much about what they’re facing or even what other weapons and strategies their captors might be prepared to use.”

His shoulders sagged a little, but the fire did not go out of his eyes. “Then we will come back for them.”

They continued to go from room to room, checking beds and beds of still bodies, none of whom were Charles. Most of them were still quite young, at the end of adolescence or barely into adulthood, and Erik tried not to allow himself a twinge of guilt for each one.

Raven tried to hang back, having looked through all of these already, not wanting to give him an excuse to linger, but he caught her craning from the doorway more often than not as if hoping that by some impossible chance she might have been wrong and that Charles would be there. Maybe they might have moved him into one of the rooms after she had checked. But they had no such luck. 

They finished with that hallway, but Erik paused outside the last doorway as if thinking or trying to regain composure before Raven could direct their search elsewhere. She turned to inquire about his hesitation, but then he stretched out his hand.

There was an audible crunch of metal that echoed all the way down, and then he dropped his hand to his side, looking satisfied. “There were extra pipes connected to the ventilation system, and it felt like the type for delivering vaporized suppressant in an emergency. But they’re sealed now, so whoever runs this place won’t have that option when the uprising comes.”

Raven grinned. “Nice. As leader of the current expedition, I commend you for your scouting and your service. You continue to prove yourself useful.”

“Don’t give me a medal unless you want it used as a weapon against you,” warned Erik without much feeling.

Raven just looked pleased and waved him down a side hall. “Next floor, if you please. And brace yourself; we’ll be at the convalescent wards soon.”

They took the stairs -- gray concrete stairwells with no windows up a floor to another similar hall, punching security codes into keypads on the way in and out. Erik closed the suppressant pipes right away and then followed Raven’s lead. The doors here were spaced a bit farther apart, and the sick smell of disinfectant permeated everything.

“We should check all of these rooms,” Raven said quietly, swiping a different card to open the closest door. “Patients rotate in and out of these much more frequently than the recent intake holding areas.”

There were six beds in this room and the space to fit them along with all of the necessary related monitors, and the bodies laid out there were just as still, but these wore more than just the standard-issue hospital gowns. These ones were also spotted with bandages and compresses and lined with neat rows of stitches. Some of them were hooked up to other fluid drips in addition to the regular suppressant IV that kept them all unconscious. One or two even had pink scar lines where stitches had already been removed or dissolved, some peeking out from under sleeves or necklines, promising more extensive maps beneath the cheap fabric. 

Erik forced himself to look carefully at each face, trying not to think too much about what might be under the gauze, making sure none of them matched the clear, careful portrait of Charles in his head. Raven’s face was carefully impassive as she surveyed the room.

“Not here,” she said flatly after a moment. They moved on. 

The next room held another six beds with another six still figures, none of whom were Charles. The wounds grew fresher as they went down the hall, and some of them looked as if they needed a change of bandages. Raven moved mechanically among them, checking faces and looking for other identifying marks when the faces were unrecognizable. 

Erik worked to steady his breathing. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen his fair share of cruelty or even messy wounds, and he had certainly caused a good number of them over the course of his colorful career. But to see so many young people, young mutants, lying still and defenseless and so callously _used_...it turned his stomach in ways he hadn’t expected.

“I’m glad Charles wasn’t in there,” admitted Raven quietly when they finished the last room. “I’ve seen some of the places they do surgery, and none of them are equipped for working on brains. I’m not sure how things would turn out for him if they tried anything using the tools they have.”

“Maybe they’ll wait longer before operating if they aren’t prepared,” suggested Erik, grasping for a sliver of hope. “Maybe he escaped before they even brought him in.”

Raven shook her head. “You said this was what he wanted, though, right? He wanted to end up here so he could find out what was going on and expose it and help those who needed it. Well, he told you he wanted it because he wanted to find me, but I am very sure the rest of that was also relevant. And he certainly hasn’t found me yet or I’d know, so he wouldn’t have fled the facility.”

“But he could have used his powers to persuade them to let him out. He could even be wandering around different halls looking for us -- well, you,” put in Erik.

For a moment, Raven looked like she might even believe it, but then her face fell. “No, even if they thought he had the drip in, I’m sure they would have also sedated him with the gas version as well as soon as they had him. With the air holes in the crate, the wouldn’t even have had to open it to do so. Standard procedure here. We should continue to search as if he’s being held somewhere in this facility.”

Erik clenched a fist in frustration. “But he’s not on any of the records! Surely they’d have a note on him at least somewhere!”

“Not on any of the records we have access to,” Raven corrected him gently. “That doesn’t mean we might not be missing layers here or there. And with his powers, it might make sense if they put him on some sort of separate roster.”

Erik looked down the hallway, still frowning. “If we let them all out, the ensuing chaos might be enough of a diversion to let us do some proper searching without having to be careful.”

Raven gave him a hard look. “You don’t actually mean that, right. We’d have almost no chance of finding Charles in chaos like that.” 

Erik said nothing.

She turned back toward the stairwell, looking tired. “Let’s go back for a while. You should rest, and the face I’m using has some rounds to do in fifteen minutes. I’ll see if I can get some more rumors that might be potentially useful, and you can look around for any more files that might give hints. 

“When I’m done with my rounds, I’ll come back and see how you’re doing. If you feel up for it, we might also look through the surgery rooms to see if any of them look like they might be set up for brain surgery. If they are, I’ll put extra alerts on the files with their schedules, and we can watch them more carefully.”

It was a reasonable strategy, and Erik recognized it even in his frustration and impatience. He just nodded and followed her, the metal framing of the walls around them trembling slightly.

Back in his room, he fixed the bed to calm himself, focusing on straightening the metal and making sure each screw was returned to its proper place. As much as he wanted to bring the whole place down into a heap of smoking scrap metal, it was also soothing to have at least one thing fall into place exactly as he wished. It was as if some tiny part within him half believed that if he could fix one thing immediately in front of him he’d be able to fix more things, bigger things, things that really mattered.

He sat down on the reconstructed bed and took up the tablet again. He scoured the files and folders he had already, but nothing had changed. He started trying to access the folders Raven hadn’t indicated, but most of them just returned “you are not authorized to access this” error messages. He attempted to manipulate some of the circuits in the tablet to try to get around it, but the authentication system didn’t work quite like that, and it was all to no avail. He tried not to think about all the data they needed to find Charles hiding just behind those pop-ups. But then one folder gave him a new message; he paused to read it.

_This folder is for file transfers only and all contents are deleted at 3am every day. Do not use for storage and do NOT place confidential information in this folder. For transferring confidential files, please see the FAQ._

Erik sat up a little and tapped “okay.” The inside of the folder was a mess of other folders, some of which had properly informative names, others of which just had people’s names, and most of which were a chaotic jumble of punctuation and odd symbols, all vying for an easy-to-find spot at the top of the alphabetical listings. Erik gave the screen a look of cold disdain that it did not seem to adequately appreciate. 

Having exhausted most of his other options, though, he decided to browse through and see if there might be anything useful or at least mildly interesting. Most of them were pdfs of various scientific papers, marked-up diagrams of machinery of muscle groups, or excel sheets of numbers without context or perhaps a few acronyms requiring explanation from elsewhere.

Irritated, he scrolled to the bottom of the folder to see if anything there might be more worth his time. The first folder had a powerpoint with a name that Erik sourly assumed to be either internet or young person slang because it made no sense to him and contained the letters “lol.” He opened it anyway.

The design was tacky and amateurish, and Erik found everything about it offended him, from the font to the poor spelling and grammar. “what 1 do you want?!” read the cover slide. He silently hoped it wouldn’t be full of lab equipment centerfolds. One never knew with scientists, but at least he imagined that’s what Charles might keep in the secret depths of his computer. 

The next page wasn’t lab equipment, though. In fact, it was a stock picture of a hypodermic needle with the caption: “powers in 1 of these!! these r almost done -- choose wisely!!”

But it was on the next few slides that the tablet started to tremble and flicker in Erik’s hands.

“wings!” screamed one of them, along with a photo of a black-haired young woman, unconscious and restrained, thin gossamer wings spread out behind her by hooks looped through their flesh.

“tornadoes! (tornados?)” shrieked another slide, this photo of a man in a wrecked room with wires and needles in his palms.

“fireworks!” “super eyesght!” “loud voice (?) (lol)” And each had an accompanying picture of the mutant source. Erik’s hands were shaking so much that he could barely copy the file and save it into Raven’s evidence folder, but he managed it after a few tries. The walls around him buckled slightly.

“not that we’ll ever afford these on our salary, but a guy can dream!” finished the last slide cheerily before he nearly cracked the screen closing it. He tried to breathe slowly, tried to tell himself he’d have to wait before he could stop the hearts of every single one of these monsters or even start to give them a taste of the pain they inflicted on these innocents, but it took every ounce of energy he had not to get up and tear the door from his room.


	9. Acceleration

Erik must have unconsciously warped the doorframe in his rage because Raven couldn’t seem to get the door to budge even after carding in, and Erik had to wrench it open for her. “What’s the matter with you?” she demanded, seeing his face. “I wasn’t gone that long!”

Not trusting his voice, he handed her the tablet without a word.

She flipped through the pages of the powerpoint without a sound, understanding dawning on her face. “Stopping the powers of those they don’t care for and selling them to the highest bidder,” she said flatly.

Erik nodded, his voice shaking a little. “I’m going to tear this place down to the very last rivet and bury every human here with it. Their blood will atone for the mutants tortured and murdered here and will serve as a warning to any others who might think to try.”

Raven’s mouth tightened. “That they have these is bad enough, but if they have Charles and manage to harness and transfer or replicate his powers...even a fraction of his power, if used strategically, could easily take over the world or start wars or just create chaos.”

Erik thought she might be exaggerating a little on that front, but he wasn’t about to argue with her conclusion. “We have to find him immediately, before they can start operating or running experiments to gather data. The clock is ticking faster than we had initially thought.”

She nodded, grim. “Let’s check the operating rooms now. Got enough energy?”

“More than enough,” he assured her, his eyes steely. “And I think that very soon we should start waking those being held here. Given what we know now, we have to evacuate them from this place as soon as possible.” He caught himself. “But Charles was and remains our highest priority. We must make sure to find him.”

Raven gave him an odd look at that but decided not to push it. Instead, she just guided him toward the door. “Let’s start looking.”

As it was, neither of them knew a great deal about brain surgery, so they could not make any expert calls about the equipment in the rooms they investigated, but nothing seemed hugely promising. They were full of the usual scalpels and clamps, syringes and needles for stitches as well as some other implements that looked like shiny steel versions of Inquisition tools, but nothing seemed particularly brain-y. “I think,” Erik guessed vaguely, “that they have some sort of something to keep the head still, usually like a frame or harness they clamp the patient into to avoid sudden damaging movements. Nothing here seems to resemble that.”

Raven leaned against the table, her expression calm, though Erik could tell she was fighting panic. “Well, we have nothing. No leads, just a list of places where Charles isn’t or probably won’t be.”

“Process of elimination,” said Erik, but even he did not find it very reassuring. Or, rather, not reassuring at all. The helpless frustration pounded in his head, the exquisite painfulness of knowing that nothing had gone as planned, that they had searched any place a “patient” might be held and found nothing. He could still bring the place down if he needed to, burying its secrets and findings and formulas from the world, but he hated the idea of so many mutants ending up as collateral damage, especially since he had brought at least a few of them here. More than he would care to admit, the idea of abandoning all efforts to find Charles also ate at him, a sickening idea he hoped would not turn into an inevitability.

Raven sighed, straightening. “Look, let’s just go back and regroup. We can think of our next move in your room; someone’s going to walk in on us here at this rate.”

Erik nodded, saying nothing as he followed her, the world reeling around him. He reached out for the metal in the walls to steady himself as they went, feeling along the structure longingly, thinking of how easy it would be for him to tear it all apart, from the foundations up….

He froze as they arrived back at his room, standing completely still just inside the doorway, eyes widening. 

Raven stared at him, reaching around to shut the door. “What’s the matter? Is someone coming?”

But Erik didn’t respond, his mind traveling down the frame of the facility, seeking the foundations. But there were none where he expected. Instead of solid supports beneath the basement, there seemed to be another level, and then another...and another. Floors and floors, descending deep into the earth. “We have to search the floors below,” he murmured, trying to feel out more details. There seemed to be an elevator shaft…

Raven looked baffled. “Floors below? But there aren’t…. The elevators and stairwells only go down to B1, and that’s nothing but storage.”

Erik shook his head. “No, there’s much more. We have to find the elevator for it….” He reached down farther, and suddenly the frustration and the churning undercurrent of helpless worry came rushing back, pouring into him, battering him from the inside. It was only when the feeling of unbearable loneliness crashed over him like a wave that he realized the feelings weren’t entirely his own; he wasn’t in the habit of entertaining _loneliness_.

He gave a gasp like one plunged suddenly into frigid waters and strained outward, letting his mind travel along the steel and iron skeleton of the facility, pushing downward, seeking out the feelings pouring into him. He knew what it meant, knew the now-familiar sensation of another mind bleeding into his own…

Then, like perfectly fit pieces snapping into place, the connection took and a familiar warmth flowed through it, conscious and strong and reaching back, grasping with relief and joy and eager surprise. 

_Erik._

“Charles…” he breathed, his legs giving way. 

Raven was kneeling by his side in a flash, checking his pupils for dilation and feeling for his pulse. “Do you say my brother’s name every time you lose consciousness?” she quipped, trying to hide the tremor in her voice.

“I found him,” he told her simply when he finally trusted his words to remain steady.

Her hands froze. “What?”

But Erik was concentrating again, feeling for Charles, trying to reach him as fully as possible. _Where are you? We were looking for you. You need to get out immediately. How long have you been here? And why didn’t you reach out before?_

 _I couldn’t,_ replied Charles, a bit put out. _I mean, I tried, but my head...it’s a bit challenging to focus...I didn’t know where to start feeling or looking, and...really, the question is why you failed to reach out sooner!_

 _We’re not the telepaths here!_ snapped Erik, relief feeding his irritation. _That’s your job!_

_‘We?”_ repeated Charles, strategically ignoring half of what Erik had said and burrowing a little more into Erik’s mind, borrowing a glimpse from his eyes. _Raven!_

Erik felt the connection broaden, and in a moment Raven’s eyes were slightly unfocused as well while she engaged Charles with an accustomed ease. _You idiot! This was your plan?! We’ve been searching all over for you! Tell us where you are this instant!_

But Charles’ consciousness just wrapped around their minds for a moment, elated and affectionate, and Erik tried not to pull a face at the image of a mental group hug.

_I’m so glad the two of you are safe! I missed you, you know. We’ll all have to go out for a nice cup of tea once we’re in the same place. I haven’t had anyone to enjoy tea with in so long -- well, probably only a few days, but it all feels very long. Ages, maybe._

_Are you drugged?_ demanded Raven. Erik quietly added that he was quite sure Charles was, given that he had been similarly obnoxiously cheerful when first delivered from his crate. 

_Oh, well, there is something a bit odd about the air,_ admitted Charles. _No more needles, but I confess I am not quite feeling myself at the moment._ There was a burst of what Erik at first thought might be interference, but it was simply mental giggling.

Raven focused again, thinking slowly and clearly. _Charles. Where. Are. You. We’re coming for you, but we’re going to need all the help we can get, so any identifying markers would be fantastic._

Charles was quiet for a bit, but the connection held. Erik could feel the way it seemed a little thin or frayed at the edges, as if it were stretched a bit too far, but Charles’ thoughts themselves betrayed no sign of strain or discomfort. _I don’t know,_ Charles admitted after a while. _I’m in a small cell with no windows or distinctive markings. There are a few guards outside, but they’re...muffled. I think the walls and something they have on their persons are blocking me._ He thought some more. _I think I’m below you, though._

 _Yes,_ replied Raven, mustering her patience. _We’re fairly sure they’re holding you on one of the restricted lower levels. We just have to figure out how to get there to find you, and it would help if we knew exactly which level you’re on._

Charles gave a fond little sigh in their heads. _It’s like that time when we were children and I went down into one of the cellars to see if I could detect color patterns in the colonies of mice living down there and somehow got myself wedged in an unused boiler pipe. You had to get me out then too, Raven._

Raven’s face said she’d rather Charles not muse about their childhood directly into their heads at this moment, but she didn’t argue with him. The drugs made it pointless anyway. 

_Well, just keep trying and tell us if you find out anything new, mouse Mendel_ \-- pleased giggles bloomed in Erik’s mind at that one -- _and we’re going to work out a plan._

Raven nodded, still even as nervous energy buzzed about her.

“We need to start waking patients,” Erik said, and it wasn’t a question.

Raven looked unsure. “Do you really think that will be more help than hindrance? With some of the more heavily drugged ones or especially those who had surgery, it could take hours before they’re able to even walk let alone fight their way out.”

Erik shook his head. “All the more reason to start now. Getting to Charles might be slow work, especially if we have to search every lower level, and they can use that time to regain their strength. Those who recover faster can help remove those who are still can’t leave on their own. And if we do set off alarms going to the lower levels, it will be better for us if there are too many alarms for them to respond to in any sort of meaningful fashion.”

 _And if you have wakeful minds, I can help coordinate their movements,_ offered Charles cheerily. 

_Can you support that much?_ asked Raven, unconvinced. _If you’re far and drugged as it is…._

Charles’ laughter in their heads was a bit less natural this time, but he put up a convincing front. _Just don’t take too long getting the butter, all right?_

Erik looked at Raven questioningly at that; she just shook her head. “When he got himself stuck in the pipe, we had to use butter and oil from the kitchen to finally get him to slip out. Ruined his entire outfit but didn’t put him off science at all. I suppose that’s a good thing.”

 _Do you have my hat, Erik?_ chimed in Charles. _I don’t suppose you brought it with you when you infiltrated, did you?_

 _No,_ Erik admitted grudgingly. _I was kidnapped too. I don’t know what happened to your hat._

 _Yes, yes, you’re both idiots,_ broke in Raven. _What hat?_

 _Erik bought me a hat while we were sightseeing in St. Louis!_ announced Charles.

Raven shot Erik an incredulous look. “Sightseeing?”

Erik wondered if Charles spilled this many secrets when he was drunk too or if this was strictly a drugs sort of thing.

 _I really couldn’t have asked for a nicer kidnapper,_ added Charles in a tone that clearly indicated that he thought he was being helpful. _Well, post-kidnap...transporter? That’s what you call yourself, right? A transporter?_

Erik was not in the mood to discuss specific terms. _Look, we need to get moving; we can socialize later or not ever._

 _Works for me,_ responded Raven while Charles sent disappointed colors into their heads, though he didn’t actually disagree with them on the need for action.

“We should start with the recent intakes,” said Erik decisively as they stepped into the hall.

Raven nodded in agreement. “Yes, they’re more likely to recover quickly and be eager to escape from here. The faster they wake up, the sooner we can explain things and enlist their help in rallying the others.”

They returned to the first room they had tried, though Raven insisted that at least for now they remove the needles properly rather than letting Erik yank them out dramatically with his powers. She made sure he knew how to apply pressure and bandages to avoid unnecessary bleeding and watched his motions carefully.

When they reached the third person in the room, a young man, Erik paused, looking closely at the back of his hand. “Is that normal?”

The flesh had hardened to an almost-scaly texture around the needle, and the ashen pattern traveled up his vein a bit, like stone dust on his dark skin. Raven squinted at it. “I’ve never seen that before. It’s like some sort of allergic reaction to the drugs, judging by the look of it, but….” She glanced at the monitor. “His vitals seem normal, so it must not be a severe reaction….” She shrugged, prepared the site as usual, and carefully removed the needle.

Erik watched, his eyes traveling up the young man’s arm again...could the marks…? But, no, that seemed highly unlikely. But wait, the scaly lines _were_ fading even as he stared at them. Raven was watching now, too. Almost immediately, the young man stirred, and in a moment he opened his eyes. 

Raven was practically gaping by now. “They never...they shouldn’t wake up so quickly. I don’t think that...how…?”

The young man smiled pleasantly at her. “That’s because I adapt. Clearly something was interfering, but I think my body has taken care of most of that already. And while we’re having a nice time of questions, what is this place and why am I here?”

 _Brilliant!_ exclaimed Charles in their heads, loud enough to make both Erik and Raven jump. The man looked rather nonplussed.

“You’re in Colorado in a secret experimental facility,” explained Raven matter-of-factly. “We’re getting out, and we think everyone else should too. Would you like to help?”

“Who are you again?” he asked carefully.

She shifted her face into his for a moment, and Erik tied the needle that had been in his hand into a knot. “We’re mutants like you, like every other person being held here.”

He gave them a careful look and then held out a hand. “Armando,” he said.

Raven grasped it firmly. “Raven. And this is Erik.” Erik nodded in greeting. “This is one of the two main floors where mutants are being held, and there’s one more locked away separately. Between Erik and me, we’ll make sure you can get into any door you need, and we’ll need you to start the evacuation while we go to get the one on his own. Do you think you can handle that?”

He nodded thoughtfully, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “Well, before we get into the big questions, I’d like to see if I can stand on my own first.” This was eminently reasonable, and they stepped back to give him room. His legs supported him fine, and he smiled at them. “Yes, I’ll manage, I think. Now, which way is this exit you’ve mentioned?”

Raven explained the key cards and the basic floorplan to him, and they walked him down the halls quickly, Erik sabotaging door mechanisms along the way, trying not to let his impatience show. He understood the need to explain thoroughly, especially if they were going to leave Armando responsible for all the trapped mutants, but the flutter of Charles in his mind tugged at him, not coercive but irresistible all the same. 

It briefly occurred to him that maybe only one of them ought to go after Charles, but of course neither he nor Raven would ever agree which one of them would stay.


	10. Pick-up

At the end of the second hall, Raven logged into a computer terminal and clicked about on a few files. “I’ve also wiped the surgery schedule for today, so no one should be coming down here. Well, they will once they notice it’s been tampered with, but it will at least buy you some time.” She turned to Erik. “Now you need to show me how to get to the lower levels to get Charles.”

Armando looked fairly calm and collected when they left him, his movements deliberate and unhurried as he disappeared into one of the patient rooms. Raven watched him for a moment with a note of approval while Erik was busy tracing the structure back up from Charles. “This way,” he informed her.

Raven looked mildly confused when he pulled her into a storage closet as if perhaps he had seen someone coming, but his attention was on the back wall. Carefully, he ran his hands along it, then pushed aside a box of compressed air canisters to reveal a small, round button. He pressed it and then waited as if listening closely. In a few seconds, Raven heard it too: a rumbling, grinding noise behind the wall. Within a few more seconds, the wall slid open, revealing what reminded Erik irritatingly of the little booths in St. Louis that ran up to the top of the Arch. Fortunately, it did not seem to come with narration.

Raven wrinkled her nose. “A secret elevator in the supply closet? Really?” But she got in.

Erik stepped in next to her, looking at the small array of buttons before him. _Still no idea which floor, Charles?_ he asked. 

_I’m afraid not,_ replied Charles apologetically, _but that Armando fellow seemed very pleasant, didn’t he?_

“Floor by floor it is,” said Raven, hitting the button for the next level down.

_I’m sensing minds there,_ added Charles. _You might want to be ready for hostile engagement._

Raven just grinned. “Guess I’d better change into something more comfortable, then.” And in another moment she was blue again, skin and teeth bared and ready.

The door opened to reveal a very surprised security guard standing there waiting, and Raven kicked him in the throat without so much as a moment’s hesitation. 

Charles sent a fond sigh into their heads as Erik began pulling metal pipes from within the ceiling and bludgeoning the guards and scientists who emerged to investigate the noise.

“Try not to wreck the place before we’ve found Charles,” Raven reminded him. 

They investigated the rooms and found labs full of vials and large, complicated machines, but there were no patients and no signs of Charles. _I don’t think I’m here,_ he told them, just in case. A few people -- guards or workers they weren’t quite sure and didn’t really care -- tried shooting tranquilizer-like needles at them, but Erik deflected and returned those with barely a glance.

_Try not to kill them,_ admonished Charles disapprovingly as the needles found their marks. The suppressant did not seem to particularly agree with human chemistry, and a few of the people fell to the ground wheezing.

_They’re still breathing,_ retorted Erik, not in a particularly pacifist mood.

Raven didn’t seem to be paying either of them much attention, moving with a gymnastic fluidity, rarely needing more than one blow to drop each target, stopping to check the computers as she passed them. 

Erik watched her with a glimmer of awe. _Can you do that, Charles?_ he asked.

Charles snorted. _Our talents are...different. Do you think I would have gotten stuck in a boiler pipe if I were that flexible?_

_Yes._

“Erik, can you wipe these computers?” asked Raven, interrupting them. “This is data better off left unpublished or used. I could probably clean them off myself, but I think you’re more efficient.”

So Erik left the argument and went over, spreading his hands out before the computer until the screens winked out and molten metal trickled from their slots. “That should do it,” he announced, trying to sound casual.

_That was beautiful,_ remarked Charles. _I should have asked you to do things like that while we were traveling._

Raven just rolled her eyes. “I’m starting to wonder what you two _did_ do on your trip over. But we can share campfire stories another time; let’s get to the next floor.”

They took the elevator down another level and found similar labs and similar opponents. A few of them stopped in their tracks for no apparent reason, and Charles sent them approval-seeking thoughts. Given their probable distance and the still-hazy feel of Charles’ telepathy, Erik did have to admit inwardly that he was impressed at the fact that Charles could manage this. 

He also kept an eye on Raven’s movements even as he whacked a few assailants over the head with microscopes, quietly admiring her fighting style. It was like a dance or some sort of death-defying circus act, soaring even when she remained on the ground, restrained by the stiffness of normal human joints. 

There were still some computers in this room, but they also found large cabinets full of lab equipment and surgical tools. Erik felt his stomach turn a little, but it eased when he smashed the glassware and warped all the metal beyond any reasonable use. Raven dusted off her hands and nodded approvingly. 

The next few floors were more of the same, though they did find the server room that hosted the internal network. Raven gave Erik a little extra time to wreak havoc in there, ripping out security system lines, letting sparks fly as pieces slammed into walls and each other, leaving only when not a single blinking light remained. Charles tried not to talk too much, but his delight at this display of Erik’s powers did pour into their minds all the same. He also held all of the guards outside perfectly still for as long as Erik needed. 

But then it abruptly changed. _Oh,_ remarked Charles mildly, _it seems they’ve come for me._ A moment later, his mind came rushing into theirs so clearly and strongly that it sent them reeling. They could see his room, small and square and insulated, the door now wide open as guards wearing odd helmets advanced. One pinned Charles to the wall, and Erik felt a sharp pinch in his own arm as a syringe jabbed into Charles’. The clear vision went hazy, but as they pulled Charles from his cell, there was a glimpse of the elevator and a plaque on the wall next to it.

Raven swore quietly. “Of course it would be the lowest level. Well, at least now we know.” And she seized Erik by his shirtsleeves and dragged him back the way they had come. He concentrated on maintaining his connection with Charles’ mind as it wavered in and out of focus, paying attention to the twists and turns of the hallways they ushered him down. The elevator ride, only a few seconds long, felt like a brief eternity, and both Erik and Raven burst out the doors at a near-sprint as soon as he wrenched them open, racing after whoever was taking Charles.

_I’m afraid they’re blocking me,_ remarked Charles, regretfully, faintly. _You know I’d freeze them if I could._

Neither of them responded, but Erik did what he could to broaden the connection so that Charles could see they were coming. A door closed in his face, and he hesitated just a moment before he realized he was seeing the doors closing behind Charles, and the world in his head tilted back as they lay Charles on a table. 

Then the doors were in sight, just beyond four guards standing ready. Erik stretched out a hand, and their guns jumped before falling to pieces in their grips. Raven was there a moment later, tearing off helmets and striking pressure points in a blue blur, Erik charging ahead to rip open the doors and burst into the room. 

A surgeon, and anesthesiologist, and several assistants looked up as one in surprise and alarm, but he did not give them much more time than that. In no time, the room was full of flying instruments and machinery, metal trays hurtling through the air and striking heads, scalpels pinning sleeves to the wall. He would have liked to drive the blades in elsewhere, but even drugged to near unconsciousness, Charles was asking him not to kill. Still, he made sure to leave each and every one of them properly knocked out, even if it was perhaps more force than strictly necessary. 

While Raven was still checking the computer and staying out of the way of whirling metal, Erik ran over to the table to check on Charles, telling himself his heart was pounding because of the adrenaline from the fight, nothing else. Charles _was_ lying unnervingly still, though, eyes closed and face even paler than usual. Erik tried to feel for a pulse but found his hands were shaking too much to get an accurate feel, and even in his mind he was...hoping strongly that the drugs hadn’t been too much for Charles.

He leaned over him, only half aware of what he was muttering under his breath. “Charles...Charles...we’re here, we found you...can you hear me? Can you--”

He cut off abruptly, or, rather, was cut off. All of the sudden, Charles’ arms snaked swiftly up and around his neck, and with a burst of effort, Charles lifted his head and kissed Erik.

Erik’s eyes flew open, but Charles released him a moment later, looking languid and pleased. _I’m not wearing pants,_ he murmured into Erik’s head. Raven made a snorting noise from by the computer and rolled her eyes, so it must still have been in the open telepathic channel.

Charles was, in fact, still wearing a hospital gown, which made things a bit less awkward but not by much. Well, Charles did not seem to feel it was awkward at all, and while he had loosened his arms enough for Erik to pull away a bit, his hands still played fondly over the back of his neck.

“Any chance there are any more scrubs available, Raven?” asked Erik. “I think your brother could use a little more clothing.” A faint pout crossed Charles’ face at this.

Raven leaned back, grinning and much more relaxed now that they had Charles. “Aw, I was going to leave you to entertain him a while longer.”

Erik gave her a look, and while it failed to have its usual effect of inducing shudders and pleas for mercy, Raven did laugh and go out to the observation room to see what there might be in the cabinets there. She returned quickly enough with a set of pale blue scrubs, bringing them over and gently whapping Charles over the head with them. “Rise and shine, sleeping beauty. You gotta get dressed so we can get moving.”

Charles’ eyes were closed again. “If I’m sleeping beauty,” he protested, “I must be kissed awake.”

She pulled his hair a little, and Erik watched her fingers curl in those brown locks with a twinge of envy. “You took care of that yourself already, silly. Poor Erik didn’t know you well enough to see it coming. You should probably apologize to him.”

Charles made some grumbling noises. “Five more minutes…”

Raven just rolled her eyes and looked at Erik. “Help me with him, would you?”

So Erik slipped his arms under Charles’ and hoisted him up into a rough sitting position, Charles’ face pressed against his chest as Raven deftly undid the little ties that went down his spine. He had a spattering of freckles on his shoulders and back that Erik hadn’t noticed back in the motel. “You have a nice pulse,” murmured Charles, which was definitely not a compliment Erik heard often.

Raven tugged the gown off Charles’ shoulders -- his arms were still slender like Erik remembered them, though somehow he seemed more fragile now -- and Erik tilted his head back so that they could slip the shirt onto him and thread his arms through the sleeves. 

“Is this what it was like for you every morning?” asked Erik, half teasing as Raven tugged the shirt down to cover Charles’ stomach. “Servants dressing you for the day before you were even awake?”

Raven gave a short barking laugh. “It was definitely the servants who picked out his clothes most of the time, but he does know how to dress himself, as it happens. He’s just being spoiled.” She pulled Charles back until he was lying down again, making sure his head didn’t thump down too hard. “Can you get the pants?” She nudged the other half of the scrubs at him.

So Erik did, trying to look nonchalant and generally unruffled as he tugged the hospital gown the rest of the way off and tucked Charles’ feet into the pant legs. Charles twitched a little as if Erik’s touch tickled, which did not make things any easier. He did, find, though, that he did not mind Charles’ legs so much this time, and it didn’t feel quite so strange as it had when he had helped him back in the motel room a few days and forever ago. Of course, they weren’t Erik’s clothes this time, though Erik found himself strangely wishing that they were.

“You’ll have to carry me,” said Charles cheerfully as the elastic waistband snapped around his hips. “I’m not sure what they injected into me, but I can’t feel my legs.”

“I’ll do it,” said Erik, though he wasn’t sure if Raven could have entirely lifted Charles herself anyway.

Charles stretched out his arms to him again, but Erik slipped an arm under his legs and tossed him over his shoulder. Charles made a little noise of surprise and sent some mildly put out thoughts Erik’s way but was quickly distracted as his face pressed against Erik’s back. _Erik! Your waist is so tiny!_ His hands carefully patted Erik’s sides.

Erik dearly hoped that Charles hadn’t thought that one out loud, but Raven was also looking at his hips and smirking a little, so it seemed he hadn’t been that fortunate. He cleared his throat. “Better see how the evacuation is going.”

Raven was trying not to laugh, but her expression sobered when he said this. “Yeah, there’s...there’s probably not much time to waste.”

_There does seem to be quite a lot going on upstairs. I don’t think anyone has died yet, though,_ put in Charles, dropping back into telepathic messaging now that his face was mostly bouncing lightly against Erik’s back as he walked.

As they left the operating room, though, Erik turned and stretched out his hand. the last computer crumpled, and then the entire room began to tremble. Lights and pipes crashed down from the ceiling and the walls buckled. Raven looked at him sharply; this had not been part of the plan. “We have what we need,” Erik growled. “I can destroy this place now.”

_There are still people in there!_ Charles thought at him sharply, trying to scrabble about a bit to see what Erik was doing. _I can sense them, and I saw them while we were still in there._

_Humans who were about to cut your skull open,_ countered Erik as one wall crumpled.

_Then it would be my prerogative to take revenge on them, not yours,_ pointed out Charles. _And I say they live. Given the coming fallout that will happen when this goes public, we_ need _them to live._

The doorways came crashing down, sealing the limp, unconscious bodies inside, but there were no more sounds of destruction from within. Charles immediately let himself go slack again as Erik turned and strode toward the elevator. _Thank you._

Someone had put an emergency lock on the elevator, probably thanks to the various alarms set off as Erik and Raven battled their way down, and nothing responded when Erik tried to call it. He growled something about how he should have noticed before, but quickly dispensed with the buttons and simply pulled the elevator down to their level, which turned out to be a remarkably effective technique.

_Next time,_ said Charles somewhat reproachfully, _could you turn around a bit so I could see what’s going on as well? While in any other circumstances I’d never complain about a view of nothing but your backside, I feel like I’m missing other exciting happenings, and I prefer not to be left out._

“There’s nothing to see, though,” Raven mentioned as they stepped into the elevator. “Everything happened behind closed doors.”

“And I have to keep at least one hand free to fight and move things,” added Erik, “which I cannot do if you are being carried like a damsel in distress.” _And you are less likely to spring another surprise kiss this way. It doesn’t feel right to let you kiss me when you’re still drugged._

There was a crunching noise below them as the elevator began to rise. Charles poked Erik in the kidney. “Are you collapsing the shaft after us? Because there are still people down there, remember?”

“People who might want to come after us right now,” Erik pointed out. “Anyway, I’m not making all the floors collapse, so they can dig them out later. I don’t see why you have to make this so boring.” Raven looked as if she rather agreed with Erik.

_It’s not that boring,_ protested Charles, apparently unable to either make up his mind or differentiate between speech and telepathy. _Well, perhaps it’s a little boring now, but the court cases and media dissection afterward are going to be fantastic! Not only will all of this raise major awareness of current issues but the legal precedents the cases will set may result in significant protections from abuse for mutants throughout the nation. It will provide a chance to make the public more sympathetic and put a face to the suffering and isolation our kind still endures._

Neither Raven nor Erik answered him because the elevator opened to utter silence. The hall where they had left Armando was still and empty, the doors all open. “Looks like he cleared this one,” Raven said, looking around. “Do you sense anyone?”

Charles took a moment to feel about. _No one present that I can detect,_ he reported.

“Next floor, then,” said Erik, closing the elevator doors.


	11. Exit

They next opened onto chaos. From what little they could see, the walls were streaked with burn marks and dotted with large dents. The noise of shouts and explosions and who knows what else was deafening, and it was a moment before either Raven or Erik took a step forward from the elevator. The nearest door had long since been ripped off its hinges and likely flung somewhere.

A blond boy ringed in crimson energy stumbled by and stopped, staring at them, his red hoops disappearing for a moment. “Get down!” came a shout before he was tackled by a large man made of what looked like silver, tranquilizer needles bouncing off his metal skin.

Charles did a bit more scrambling, tugging at Erik’s clothes and arm until he could peek through the crook of his elbow. He could have just as easily borrowed Erik or Raven’s eyes, of course, but he wanted to see for himself, even if it had to be upside down. _I suppose they found the edited surgery schedule sooner than anticipated._

A guard in riot gear lumbered past, and Erik dropped him with his own baton before stepping out into the fray. “I’m going to see who’s left in the rooms,” said Raven. “See what you can do about the fighting and get Charles out.” Erik nodded. At the end of the hall, a slender young woman was opening rounded purple gateways for those carrying still-unconscious figures to step through into somewhere outside.

“We found an easier exit!” Armando called to them over the din. He appeared to have turned to scaly stone and was watching the gatekeeper girl’s back so she could focus on making portals and closing them at the right time.

Erik stepped over another prone guard and dodged an errant blast of fire, shrugging off the shouted apology that followed. He could hear Charles rather hoping it hadn’t signed his hair. Another guard lunged at him but then thudded to the ground, his legs encased in ice.

 _So many of them are so young but so adept with their powers!_ thought Charles wonderingly. _Imagine what they could do with a little training!_

 _Raising an army next?_ asked Erik, stepping over a few more figures and incapacitating a guard with shreds of wall. _I like that idea. If mutants are going to be targeted like this again in the future, it will be better if we can all defend ourselves._

 _I was thinking a school or something, actually,_ grumbled Charles. _Charitable educational work is very positively regarded in most circles, and many of the mutants here look like they’d need to be in some sort of classes at their age anyway._

_That could be a good cover,_ agreed Erik, nodding in approval as the guards around them froze, even though Charles tensed a bit to do it. _You should look into it and tell me how it goes._

 _You’re not interested?_ asked Charles quietly, though perhaps he was simply concentrating on holding the guards. The ones a little farther away were moving more slowly now, too. Erik knocked them out with the debris around them.

 _I’m not the sort of person anyone wants around children,_ Erik told him. _Anyway, I’m used to being alone, which can be very pleasant most of the time._

Raven emerged, carrying a boy who looked about thirteen years old. “I think we’ve got them all. A few more, but they’ve got others who already volunteered to carry them. I thought I told you to get Charles out!”

 _I didn’t want to miss any power demonstrations,_ Charles told her keenly. _There are so many fascinating ones on display all at once -- I’ve never seen anything like it!_

“He wants to start a school for them,” Erik informed Raven. 

“I heard,” she said, hefting the child in her arms a bit.

“I’m sure he’ll make a room or something that tries to kill them so they’ll have to show him what they can do. He’ll watch it like television,” added Erik.

 _What a horrid idea! I would never!_ interrupted Charles indignantly. The frozen guards nearby twitched. 

Raven watched a few other mutants hurry out with limp figures in their arms. “That’s the last of them.” Erik began crunching patient cells shut, resisting the urge to do major damage to load-bearing walls. Raven shimmered back into the technician whose face she had been borrowing before, but in scrubs instead of a lab coat this time. “We don’t know who or what is out there,” she explained to Erik’s questioning glance. “With a mutation as visible as mine, sometimes it’s better to be safe.”

Armando was beckoning them to hurry as the woman beside him still opened and closed portals to let mutants out and keep any attackers in futile loops away from her. Erik caught glimpses of flashing lights through them here and there and quietly hoped they hadn’t sent the prisoners out into something worse. 

Over his shoulder, he felt Charles take a deep breath and steel himself, and all through the hallway, every single remaining guard froze and then dropped as if sound asleep. Wondering if he might be more comfortable and seeing as how he didn’t much need to move metal to defend them now that their assailants were taken care of, Erik shifted Charles so he was carrying him in his arms. Charles had a hand by his temple and seemed to be concentrating very hard. 

They leapt through the purple ring waiting for them and into fresh air and the glare of lights shining and flashing in the darkness. Erik blinked, as did Charles, who mumbled, “Paparazzi?”

As far as Erik could tell, though, it was only a small fleet of emergency vehicles: ambulances, police cars, fire trucks…. No, wait, there were news trucks too, and people with large cameras and microphones were milling about describing the scene and getting underfoot. Already, EMT’s were checking vitals and loading small, still forms on gurneys into the back of ambulances, offering snacks and drinks to crying children and shell-shocked teens. Behind them, smoke rose from a facility built straight into the mountainside and covered in fences, cameras, and imposing but uninformative signs. Several strings of barbed wire crumpled as Erik glared at them.

Raven reappeared at his side; he hadn’t noticed her leave, but she was no longer carrying the boy who had been in her arms, so he assumed she had handed him over to the rescue workers. “How’s he doing?” she asked softly, leaning down to feel Charles’ forehead. 

“I’m fine,” he insisted, weakly trying to bat her hand away. “I was checking to make sure we got everyone out that we needed to, and I think we did. There’s still staff inside, of course, but they can get them when they start making arrests.”

“Good,” said Erik simply, for now not caring that there hadn’t been more bloodshed.

“Is that Charles Xavier?” shouted someone with a boom mic, and in a moment, everyone with a camera was headed their way. 

Erik swore under his breath, and then he saw Raven turn and step forward in his peripheral vision, only it wasn’t Raven now, it was another first responder. “Please stay back!” said the emergency worker with outstretched arms and an authoritative tone. “He needs treatment, and I would hate to see any of you liable in court for damages due to additional strain and mental duress placed on Mr. Xavier in this time of crisis.” They paused, hanging back, curious but unsure, though in the end it seemed they just decided to zoom in from afar. A few who did venture too close found their equipment mysteriously shorting out.

Charles rested his head on Erik’s chest, trying not to broadcast his fatigue. _Thank you, Raven. Well done._

Erik rubbed his shoulder softly. _We did it. We got out, and you’re even getting your publicity -- albeit from a respectful distance._ And for a moment, he just wanted to sit down right there and wrap his arms around Charles and brush his nose in that thick, dark hair. But the cameras were watching and people were still running about and shouting at each other and into radios, and Charles wasn’t even fully himself at the moment, so it just didn’t seem the time for that.

He didn’t notice his arms were aching until they brought a gurney over and gently pried Charles from his grasp. _It’s good they’re putting an oxygen mask on you,_ thought Erik dazedly, _so you don’t go kissing all of them._

Charles’ laughter was faint and weak in his head. 

But then the paramedics were swarming him too, slipping a blanket over his shoulders, checking his pulse and blood pressure, asking him to follow a penlight shining in his eyes. Then police wanted his name and hometown and who they should contact to inform that he had been found. The adrenaline had faded now, leaving thick dullness that oozed through every inch of him, catching his tongue and gumming up the workings in his brain. He almost gave them his name, then tried to think of the best alias for the situation, then caught himself simply thinking he was glad his kidnappers had taken his wallet or else he’d have to explain his many ID’s and all the cash.

Erik reached his hand out to the side to brush Charles’ on the gurney for stability and reassurance, especially if they were grilling him too, but his fingers touched only empty air. He turned around with a soft, gasping breath just in time to see them loading Charles into the back of an ambulance, Raven climbing in after him, still in her EMT form. He took a step forward, hand reaching out as if it might tear the closing doors off, but someone laid a heavy, warm hand on his shoulder. 

“Steady there,” said the firefighter at his side with a quietly kind deep voice. “That one’s full. You just wait a moment, and we’ll have you all loaded up for a proper check-up at the hospital in no time. You’re holding up pretty well so far, though.”

So Erik stood there numbly, alone and blank with a gap in his mind once more until they helped him sit down and then had him stand again shortly thereafter to get into another ambulance. He waited for hours in a lousy emergency room while the doctors and nurses rushed about tending to more grievously injured or distressed mutants, his mind reaching out and scanning for Charles with an exhaustion-dimmed hope. Around dawn, he caught a nurse by the sleeve. “Charles Xavier,” he rasped, surprised at how worn his own voice sounded. “Is he all right? Which room is his?”

He brushed the hand off gently. “I’m afraid I haven’t heard anything about a Charles Xavier. Are you sure he was brought here? They took the rescued mutants to about five different hospitals due to capacity concerns.”

Erik’s hand fell to his side. “Oh.” Oh, of course. Why had he even assumed that he and Charles would end up in the same place? A few days certainly didn’t make a pattern…. They wouldn’t let him leave, though; the doctors finally made their way down the patient list and insisted on checking all his vitals again and looking him over thoroughly for possible injuries. Then they told him he needed to rest, and just when he was about to tear out the window in his room and leave anyways, the police arrived and wanted to take an official statement of everything he remembered and where home might be. 

He dodged specifics when they grew uncomfortable or close to home, trying to worm out any information about Charles they might have, but no one had so much as a newspaper, and the TV in the room he shared with three other shell-shocked mutants was broken. Besides, wasn’t it much more likely that Charles had already been airlifted to much more luxurious facilities with private doctors and the like?

In the end, the government and many generous donors who had seen the crisis on TV provided him with some ill-fitting clothes, a bit of food, and a one-way ticket back to New York. It was only then that he really regretted (or perhaps resented) the loss of the money he had rightfully earned driving Charles across the country to Colorado.

The shirt he had left to soak when he first left the house was a soggy mess he didn’t feel like dealing with ever, so he tossed it. Any useful DNA evidence from the blood would be long gone anyway.

The call he received two hours after arriving home put a further pinch on his personal budget. “We’re sorry,” said the crisp tones of one of his regular clients’ secretaries, “but we saw the news, and given how much they’ve used the footage that included you, we feel you’re too visible and recognizable at the moment. We’ll see what happens and how it develops and perhaps call you again in another few months.”

“Yes of course,” said Erik, wondering exactly what had been on the news. “I understand.” What else was he going to say to that?

Other clients put in similar calls throughout the rest of the day and part of the night when he really just wanted a shower and a long sleep in his own bed without thinking about the sudden precariousness of his financial situation. Around nine in the morning, just when it seemed he’d finally get to sleep in a bit, his phone rang with a blocked number again. Jerked awake in just the right position to get a sunbeam smack in the eye, he snatched up the phone in a ferociously bad mood and put it to his ear. “I get it! You don’t want me! Fine! I have better things to be doing!”

A split second before he hung up, a quiet voice said, “Oh,” in refined-yet-wounded tones that he recognized instantly as Charles. He lay there for a moment, staring at the “call ended” screen and taking a moment to absorb what had just happened. Charles did not call back in the next ten minutes, which reasonably meant he would not be calling back again, but Erik jumped every time his phone buzzed for the rest of the day. 

For a while, he mulled over trying to find out Charles’ number and call back, and he even considered attempting to apologize, but even the most truthful explanation sounded like desperate lies in his head, and he opted not to risk the humiliation.

When he woke the next morning, he thought for a moment that he was back in his cell and then wondered why he had never decorated more. The apartment was bigger than any of the “patient rooms” or his hospital room, and no one else was taking up his precious space in it, but it still felt oddly small for reasons he couldn’t name.

Hoping to drown out the quiet, Erik flipped on the TV to see what was on the news. As it turned out, the facility breakout/rescue had been just as big a story as his (former) clients had made it sound. Outlets were still periodically reporting updated numbers of mutants and humans from it. The played loops of crowds of frightened children appearing in rings of purple light, smoke billowing from the facility, employees being handcuffed or loaded into ambulances, and...him carrying Charles and leaning his head down to murmur to him.

He went online to see if there might be anything else and found that in fact the images of him carrying Charles seemed to accompany nearly every headline. Of course, the accompanying text tended to veer off into speculation as to what the socialite-and-sort-of-maybe-activist was doing being kidnapped like that and who would be so brazen as to do that, though a few did speculate about the mysterious man who had borne him to safety. Erik decided he preferred to go unmentioned but couldn’t do much about it at this point.

In fact, despite his general distaste for all the coverage and the fact that it involved him at all, Erik found himself watching quite a bit of it over the next few weeks. It wasn’t as if he had much else to do. Once a woman recognized him in the grocery, and after that he found it hard to motivate himself to leave his apartment much at all.


	12. You Have Reached Your Destination

Erik had rather assumed that all of this was out of their hands now, far too big for individuals and fit only for the grinding bureaucracy of the justice system, but it turned out Charles felt very differently. In fact, it seemed as if every time he checked the news or channel-surfed lately, Charles was there, staring out of the screen with his earnest blue eyes. 

Well, he had talked about the coming publicity as potentially positive, and it seemed he was making the most of any instant of attention he could get. He did interviews to talk about his experiences and observations and the need for mutant protections. He brought a few other mutant escapees on a number of the shows with him as well.

In fact, to most everyone’s surprise, people seemed to genuinely like Charles. A few of the hosts were wary of his powers and “political agenda” (as well as a few conservative commentators who highlighted his “history of depravity”), but Charles was charming and articulate in person, prepared for the questions and arguments lobbed his way, always gracious and respectful. He even managed to wrangle his way into a congressional hearing on new legislation to protect mutants and more severely punish those who sought to exploit them. 

It also helped that the corporation that turned out to be behind the facility, one Trask Industries, had been lobbying for government funding, and that near-embarrassment and dodged-bullet feeling was a powerful motivation to react swiftly (well, relatively swiftly) and decisively.

Erik wondered how the congresspersons might react if they ever saw Charles demanding Cincinnati chili. 

That was the thing, though -- this Charles was nearly unrecognizable. His hair was always perfect, his suits tailored to fit every inch of him and pressed to unearthly smoothness. He spoke with educated polish and really engaged with the hosts and audiences. Erik thought about Charles slouched in the passenger seat of his van, too-big clothes still creased from packing, hair growing increasingly rumpled throughout the day. The Charles he knew was cheerily absentminded, and he wondered how much focus it must take to seem so presentable for a full hour-long show.

After a few beers, he admitted to himself that he preferred the Charles he knew.

After another beer and some brandy, it began to irritate him tremendously how familiar and friendly all the interviewers and hosts acted toward Charles when they clearly didn’t know him at all. _They_ didn’t know that Charles always got chatty with wait staff or that he treated his bed like a cocoon, so where did they get off reaching over and touching his arm like that? They still thought Charles’ telepathy was limited to -- what was the term? -- party tricks. Then it occurred to him that he himself had only spent a few days with Charles, and he had some more brandy.

Charles reputation took another little jump when he neatly won the legal battle with his step-family and regained full control of his rightful assets. There wasn’t much to really fight about now that he had reappeared alive and well and no more search parties were necessary, and he had tried to keep it quiet, but the media was far too interested in him at this point. Besides, it was nice to have a bit of a persecuted victim complex they could pin on him and his babyface, since poverty and class discrimination certainly didn’t stick.

Erik watched the news footage of Charles leaving the courthouse after the final decision, smiling modestly at the cameras and trying not to look like an ungracious winner. Charles had never tried to mask excitement in front of Erik.

In fact, Erik spent the better part of two or three weeks watching all the news related to Charles. It was just news, and he managed to stay off the gossip blogs, but he had still never felt so creepy watching CNN. (Of course, he would also never admit to watching CNN.) He even ventured onto YouTube for a little.

About a month later, as the legal fights and such were wrapping up or going in other directions, Charles was seen more and more often in the company of a statuesque blond woman from a wealthy New England family, and rumors flew. At first Erik thought it might be Raven in another form, but the mannerisms were too different, and Raven preferred not to bring that much attention to herself. Every now and then, though, he saw the glances they exchanged and knew there were silent conversations going on. He gave a little sigh and went out for a walk once it was dark enough that people were unlikely to recognize him and stare.

Sometimes, when he really let his head get the best of him, he thought again about trying to call or write to Charles, just to see if he remembered him. But of course that was silly and impossible. He didn’t have Charles’ number or even a fanmail address (did people even write fanmail to Charles? He just imagined all famous figures got some sort of fanmail), and even if he did, what would he say? Certainly his criminal background would show up on security’s radar even if they didn’t realize that he had basically been implicit in Charles’ kidnapping.

So he mostly stayed home or went out for drives to nowhere and got a little part-time job at a watch shop to help his savings stretch a little longer and mostly kept to himself.

In fact, Charles did call again, with the stilted tone of a courtesy call, hesitant and sounding like he hadn’t quite shed his political TV persona. “I, er, I apologize for not attempting to contact you earlier. Well, again. I obviously caught you at a bad time the last time, but I couldn’t be quite sure it wasn’t actually directed at me, and...um…”

He sounded strange and thin over the phone, not fleshed out by the ever-expanding three-dimensional sense of his shared thoughts, Erik thought. His formality also needled at Erik, as if Charles felt they were strangers now that he had gone back to his opulent world of paying people to let him do whatever he wanted. “No, I...I didn’t mean it like that. You were fine. I just...I couldn’t call back. And then you were busy running around Washington and various courtrooms.” _Which means you were too important and busy to spare a few minutes to call back and make sure I really meant to say those things to you._ But of course Charles couldn’t pick up on that over the phone. 

“I never said thank you properly -- for your help, I mean,” Charles continued, sounding rehearsed. “I was and continue to be grateful for the kindness and loyalty you showed over those few days. The outcome would have been very different without your involvement.”

“Yeah, and it seems like everyone else ended up knowing about it too now,” said Erik before he could stop himself; he really had meant to pretend everything was fine without Charles, but the frustration seeped out anyway. “But what can you do, business is hard when you suddenly get famous.”

There was a little intake of breath from Charles. “I didn’t even think of that. I could write you a check or wire you money -- I could even have cash delivered, if you like. Really, it was poor form of me to not even offer you a reward sooner, given all that you did and how it ended up.”

“I don’t need charity,” snapped Erik, harsher than he intended. “I have always been able to fend well enough on my own.”

Charles went quiet again.

 _He’s lost without being able to get a proper read,_ Erik realized, but he wasn’t sure how to take it back.

“Well,” Charles picked up, his voice neatly manicured again, “I do mean it when I say thank you. If you decide there is anything I or my family might be able to do for you, please do contact us at any time.” And he hung up, still polite as ever, after giving Erik a number to call.

Erik had thought he couldn’t have handled the call more stupidly than the first one with all the yelling, but this one was worse in ways he hadn’t considered. Of course, now he would consider them in great detail every time he couldn’t sleep.

The next night, he had fallen asleep in front of the television (people yammering at each other and laughing in a self-congratulatory way) when he woke to the feel of slightly jostled metal. It took him a groggy moment to pinpoint it, but he sat up properly when he realized it was his car downstairs. Not even a loaner from a job or anything, but the actual little used car he owned, which never topped 90 mph of its own accord but could go 120 with a bit of nudging from him. At any rate, it was his car, and someone appeared to be tampering with it.

He cursed under his breath and summoned a handful of BB’s from the kitchen (of course he kept BB’s in the kitchen), pulled on a t-shirt, and headed downstairs in a veritable storm cloud of a mood. It was a fairly brazen attempted break-in; the figure was hunched over his trunk fiddling with the lock, making plenty of rattling noises and not even bothering to look up as he approached. The would-be criminal also seemed to be making no progress getting anything open. Erik stopped just a few yards away before speaking. “Having some trouble with your selected crime of the night?”

The figure started, whirled around, and very nearly fell over. The BB’s dropped from their small orbits above Erik’s hand, plinking onto the gravel around his feet.

“...Charles?”

Charles leaned against the back of the car looking wildly about as if seeking an escape route, then down at the BB’s, then up at Erik, his eyes wide and flustered. “Oh...oh, hello, Erik.”

“Charles,” said Erik, slowly and cautiously, “...what are you doing?”

Charles rubbed the back of his neck, looking back at the car again. “I...I thought it would be funny to...to surprise you. I wanted you to find me in your trunk and it would be like...I thought it would be funny….”

Erik stared at him incredulously.

Charles’ voice dropped and faded a bit. “But...but now that I’m here and you’re here, it seems like rather a...a silly idea, doesn’t it?”

Erik had to give a little shrug at this. “Yes, it does.”

Charles looked put out for a moment, then straightened again before leaning back heavily against the vehicle again, wobbling a little.

“Are you...drunk?” asked Erik, still baffled and thoroughly unsure as to what to do about all of this. This was definitely Charles, at least; Raven would never pull something like this.

As if on cue, Charles gave a little hiccup. “No...yes...well, I just had to work up my courage a little before coming here is all. I wasn’t sure...it’s been rather a while...I mean….”

Erik tilted his head a little. “So you got drunk and came all the way here, and...just wanted to say hi by climbing into my car’s trunk in the middle of the night?”

Charles let out a huffy little breath that puffed his cheeks out a bit before releasing. “That isn’t precisely how I would phrase it, but…. And anyway, I wanted to ask you something, not just say hi.”

Erik looked at him expectantly, still somewhat puzzled. “Which is…?”

Charles took a deep breath. “I wanted to know if you would like to be my bodyguard,” he said out loud, though he very conspicuously and sloppily thought _boyfriend_ at the same moment. 

Erik’s eyebrows shot upwards toward his hairline. 

Charles looked down again and tugged self-consciously at his jacket, which upon closer inspection appeared to be streaked with grease and dirt and scuff marks. 

“Charles,” said Erik carefully, “did you crawl _under_ the car?”

“Well,” said Charles, straightening a bit again and trying to look dignified, “I was checking to see if there might be a switch for the trunk under there. I thought perhaps you would have one of _those_ models.”

By now, Erik was quite sure Charles had never ever driven his own car. “Look,” he started awkwardly, “why don’t you come upstairs and I can find something clean to loan you for now.” He realized a moment later that he also could have offered to call someone to come pick up Charles, but he preferred to pretend that wasn’t an option. Anyway, the awkwardness seemed to have sobered Charles up a bit; he was standing properly now.

And, in fact, he seemed delighted at this suggestion. “I’d love to come up,” he agreed, eyes shining. 

They took the rickety elevator up in silence, Erik suddenly wishing he had kept his apartment a bit cleaner over the past couple of months during all the time he spent there. Charles still seemed a bit hesitant, but a pleasantly happy warmth was creeping into Erik’s head, familiar in a way he hadn’t realized he had missed quite so much. And, thinking back on the offer, he also reasoned that Charles really could do with someone watching out for him now more than ever….

Charles was kind enough not to judge his shabby, tiny apartment out loud or directly into his head, though he still did poke about curiously while Erik was trying to find spare clothing for him. Erik emerged from his bedroom to find Charles in the kitchen examining the tiny coffee maker.

“I wasn’t sure how long you were planning to stay,” began Erik, his tone gruff to hide the fact that he had no idea what to do about all of this, “so I brought you some options. Sweatpants and a t-shirt or a polo and khakis?”

Charles turned and gave him a look of unabashed affection before coming over, reaching for the t-shirt option, and tilting his head up a bit to kiss Erik. “These look suitably comfortable.”

Erik stood there a moment, caught by surprise yet again, glancing down at the oil smudges Charles’ jacket had transferred to his own t-shirt. He could taste traces of whiskey on his lips. “I’m beginning to think you only like me when you’re drugged or drunk,” he remarked.

Charles went pink. “What?! No! I-I just...well, I thought I picked up on...but I wasn’t sure it wasn’t the drugs last time, but you pulled away…. And then the phone call was awkward, but I couldn’t tell unless I talked to you in person, and I really hoped…. Sorry.” He looked embarrassed and miserable, hands twisting the t-shirt and sweatpants. 

“What about Emma?” asked Erik, wishing he didn’t feel compelled to inquire. 

Charles looked up, startled. “Emma? She’s...no, she’s another telepath, and we’ve become acquainted through that, but…. Oh goodness, she is terribly far out of my league...and I had always hoped that maybe you…Raven said she was fairly sure you might….”

Erik hesitated, set the khakis on the kitchen counter, and tugged Charles into a rough approximation of an embrace, reasoning that he was going to have to change his shirt already. Charles’ thoughts went bright with surprise and then softly colorful and quietly ecstatic. Worst of all, the sappy affection seeping from him didn’t even make Erik feel vaguely ill like it really should have; in fact, he was strangely happy too, and he held on longer than was strictly necessary.

 _This is much better than spending the night shut in the trunk of your car,_ thought Charles with a contented little hum in his head. 

_How much did you have to drink to think that was a good idea?_ asked Erik without much sharpness.

Charles just grinned into his chest, having gotten his way yet again. 

Erik finally pulled away. “Okay, go on and get changed; I have to find another shirt too.”

So Charles, still looking terribly pleased with himself, stepped back, set the clothes to the side, slipped off his jacket, and proceeded to start unbuttoning his shirt right there in the kitchen. Erik blinked, unsure of how to react. Charles’ eyes flicked up to his face and his smile broadened for a moment, but he proceed as if nothing at all were amiss.

Erik opened his mouth as if to comment, averting his gaze and then forgetting what he was going to say, and Charles’ amusement spilled into his head. _You’re allowed to look, you know._ So Erik did, wondering why library-pale skin and slightly knobby elbows should look so inviting. Perhaps it was all at Charles’ suggestion -- he was shamelessly in his head by this point -- but if Erik were truly honest with himself, he would have to admit his opinion was quite his own.

Not that Charles wasn’t acutely aware of Erik’s gaze and thoughts, impishly taking his time shedding his shirt and undoing his expensive leather belt and his slacks. Erik had never had anyone strip in his kitchen before (unless one counted that time he splashed himself with hot pasta sauce), but he rather felt he had been missing out, all things considered, and if Charles wanted to volunteer…

At which point Charles tripped, trying to step out of his trousers, stumbling in his boxers and nearly toppling an empty mug from the counter. Erik’s arms shot out to catch him and settled on his shoulders even though he managed to steady himself, but the moment was gone. “I was going to offer you something to drink,” remarked Erik, “but I think you should stick to water or warm milk at this point.”

“Don’t be stingy,” retorted Charles, refusing to be embarrassed yet again in the same night, though he did reach for the sweatpants now. “You could at least offer me wine. White or red, I don’t care.”

The corners of Erik’s mouth quirked, but he turned to one of the cupboards to get out some glasses. “All I have is a bottle from the grocery down the street; I’m fairly sure it wouldn’t suit your refined tastes.”

“If the company’s good, I am actually not hugely particular about what I drink,” said Charles cheerily, hopping up to sit on the counter right where Erik had meant to set the glasses, not at all sorry about getting in the way or crowding into Erik’s space. “Are you going to be good company?”

Erik turned to give him an exasperated look but found he couldn’t quite manage it, not with Charles’ blue eyes smirking at him so close. Which was how he found his hand leaving the glasses right where they were. Which was how he found himself leaning toward Charles in return, as if challenging him for space but not really. Which was how he found Charles’ lips with his own.

Something that felt suspiciously like _Finally!_ sighed into his mind, and he almost considered thinking back a retort, but Charles’ fingers on the nape of his neck were distracting, though not nearly as distracting as the way Charles was kissing back, eager and sure and pleased. 

His hands found Charles’ waist as he leaned into the counter a bit more, and for all his comments about Charles being solid, Erik found he _liked_ the feel of slight softness over muscle (muscle that hitched and tensed ever so slightly when he kissed back just right). Charles returned the gesture with a knee in Erik’s ribs before he managed to get his leg properly against his waist, toes trailing idly on the back of his thigh, which Erik felt was permission enough to run a hand down to said knee. 

In the end, someone pushed the coffeemaker off the counter (their hands were too busy to point fingers), but Erik figured he’d be needing one that brewed for two now anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End!
> 
> Speaking of which, another extra special thank you to [endingthemes](http://archiveofourown.org/users/endingthemes) for her encouragement, editing, and snark control. Couldn't have done it without you!


End file.
